A¥iAR 


JOSEPH  HUSBAND 


^V  STo^^p!)  I^ttebanti 


A  YEAR    IN   THE    NAVY. 

AMERICA  AT  WORK.    With  frontispiece. 

A  YEAR   IN   A  COAL   MINE.    With  frontispiece. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  NbwYork 


A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 


A  YEAR 
IN  THE  NAVY 

By 
JOSEPH  HUSBAND 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(Ete  ilittec^ttie  ^ttii  Cambtibge 
1919 


^^t:- 

-0-^ 


COPYRIGHT,  1918  AND  I919,  BY  THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY  JOSEPH  HUSBAND 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


TO  MY  WIFE 


PREFACE 

It  is  my  desire  in  this  foreword  to  call 
particular  attention  to  the  splendid  ac- 
complishments of  two  distinguished  offi- 
cers of  the  United  States  Navy  who  with 
rare  ability  and  perseverance  in  large 
measure  created  and  brought  to  high  effi- 
ciency the  great  organizations  which  it 
was  their  honor  to  command,  organiza- 
tions which  proved  of  the  utmost  signifi- 
cance to  the  winning  of  the  war. 

At  the  Great  Lakes  Naval  Training 
Station,  Captain  William  A.  Moflfett, 
U.S.N.,  Commandant,  developed  not  only 
the  largest,  but  unqualifiedly  the  most 
efficient,  naval  training  establishment 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen,  from  whose 
gates  thousands  of  the  youth  of  the  Na- 
tion passed  on  to  their  duties  with  the 


viii  PREFACE 

ships  which  made  possible  the  safe  trans- 
portation of  men  and  stores  across  the  sea. 
But  of  equal  importance  was  another 
service  of  inestimable  worth.  A  thousand 
miles  inland,  in  the  great  agricultural  cen- 
ter of  the  United  States,  this  station  be- 
came under  Captain  Moffett  a  power  for 
patriotism.  Here  the  Navy  became  visu- 
alized to  that  part  of  the  population  which 
never  before  had  realized  the  romance  of 
the  sea.  The  spirit  of  this  vast  camp  of 
fifty  thousand  men;  the  enthusiasm  and 
discipline  of  the  recruits;  the  martial  mu- 
sic of  its  great  bands  and  the  pervading 
spirit  of  vigorous  patriotism,  gave  to  the 
Middle  West  a  vital  and  inspiring  illus- 
tration of  the  true  worth  of  military  train- 
ing and  a  suggestion  of  what  its  consistent 
continuation  might  hold  in  future  years 
for  the  upbuilding  of  the  moral  and  physi- 
cal fiber  of  the  Nation's  youth.  The  credit 


PREFACE  ix 

for  this  accomplishment  belongs  primarily 
to  Captain  Moffett;  it  was  he  who  made 
the  Navy  known  to  inland  States  which 
heretofore  had  barely  realized  its  exist- 
ence. 

Across  the  Atlantic,  at  Brest,  in  France, 
under  Vice- Admiral  Henry  B.  Wilson, 
U.S.N.,  another  complicated  organization 
was  built  and  perfected  with  equal  ability, 
under  the  difficult  conditions  imposed  by 
its  situation  in  a  foreign  land.  In  the  brief 
period  of  our  participation  in  the  war,  the 
men  of  this  organization  achieved  a  record 
and  a  reputation  that  can  but  grow  with 
passing  years.  Under  the  command  of 
Vice-Admiral  Wilson,  the  forces  of  the 
Navy  in  French  waters  escorted,  with  mar- 
velous freedom  from  disaster,  vast  stores 
and  amighty  army  through  waters  infested 
with  the  submarines  of  a  daring  enemy.  By 
his  rare  tact  and  personal  charm  a  spirit 


X  PREFACE 

of  cooperation,  confidence,  and  cordiality 
was  established  between  the  people  of 
France  and  the  naval  representatives  of 
the  United  States  from  Brest  to  the  Span- 
ish line.  An  officer  and  a  gentleman,  he 
rendered  to  his  country  a  quiet  service  to 
which  it  is  impossible  to  accord  an  ade- 
quate recognition. 

To  the  other  officers  under  whom  I 
served  at  the  Great  Lakes  Naval  Training 
Station  and  on  the  several  ships  to  which 
I  was  later  attached  in  foreign  waters,  I 
wish  here  to  express  my  deep  appreciation 
for  their  fine  spirit  of  consideration,  help- 
fulness, and  enthusiasm  which  enabled  me 
to  accomplish  the  more  readily  the  minor 
duties  which  1  was  qualified  to  perform. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  rare  inspiration  to  have 
known  and  served  under  these  several 
gentlemen,  and  the  recollection  of  their 
spirit  and  unqualified  patriotism  brings 


PREFACE  xi 

the  realization  that  the  temper  of  the 
glorious  Navy  of  the  past  still  lives  to-day 
and  will  live  as  long  as  the  United  States 
endures. 


CONTENTS 

I.  Ordinary  Seamen,  U.S.N.  1 

II.  Students  of  the  Sea  36 

III.  The  Transport  71 

IV.  The  Freight  Convoy  108 
V.  Destroyers  139 

VI.    HoMEWARD-BoUND  156 


A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N. 

Forty  miles  north  of  Chicago,  on  the 
high  bluffs  that  overlook  Lake  Michi- 
gan, the  Naval  Training  Station  of  the 
Great  Lakes  stretches  a  mile  back  to  the 
railroad  tracks  from  a  mile  frontage  on 
the  shore;  and  even  beyond  the  tracks  the 
latest  additions  have  crept  out  on  the 
rolling  prairie.  Here,  covering  approxi- 
mately three  hundred  acres,  the  vast 
camp,  with  its  recent  additions  to  meet 
the  war  emergency,  houses  an  average 
total  of  twenty-two  thousand  men  —  the 
largest  and  most  complete  naval  training 
establishment  in  the  world. 

There  had  been  a  heavy  blizzard  in 


3       ,     A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Chicago  the  first  week  in  January,  and 
when,  on  the  eighth,  I  walked  up  from 
the  railroad  station  to  the  great  brick  en- 
trance, the  ground  was  deep  with  snow. 
Beyond  the  iron  gates,  hundreds  of  sail- 
ors in  white  trousers  and  blue  pea-coats 
were  piling  the  snow  back  from  roads 
and  sidewalks.  From  the  entrance  a  long, 
straight  road  stretched  almost  to  the  lake. 
On  either  side,  and  back  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  the  substantial  brick  buildings 
of  the  station  extended  in  orderly  ar- 
rangement, like  the  buildings  of  a  modern 
university.  At  the  far  end  the  tall,  mas- 
sive clock-tower  of  the  Administration 
Building  rose  red  against  the  blue  winter 
sky.  High  above  it,  to  the  right,  the  slen- 
der tapering  towers  of  the  wireless  caught 
their  swinging  cobwebs  of  wires  up  four 
hundred  feet  against  the  blue.  Below, 
everywhere,  the  red  brick  buildings  and 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.        3 

the  glitter  of  sun-touched  snow  in  zero 
air. 

In  the  recruiting  building  a  long  line  of 
men  already  were  waiting  to  swear  their 
loyalty  to  Uncle  Sam's  Navy,  and  merci- 
less hostility  to  his  enemies.  One  by  one 
we  filed  into  the  recruiting-room,  where  a 
dozen  sailors,  in  neat  uniforms  with  their 
yeomen's  ratings  on  their  blue  sleeves, 
shamed  our  motley  civilian  clothes  by 
contrast.  Short  and  tall,  stout  and  thin, 
from  Texas,  Ohio,  Colorado,  and  Min- 
nesota, in  cheap  "sport  suits,"  sweaters, 
caps,  derbies,  every  kind  of  clothing,  with 
broken  dress-suit-cases,  cord-bound,  with 
paper  bundles,  and  many  with  hands 
empty  —  here  was  young  America  in  its 
infinite  variety. 

To  the  room  where  physical  examina- 
tions were  held  we  were  passed  along  with 
our  identifying  papers.  Yellow  sunshine 


4  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

shone  warmly  through  high  windows; 
there  was  the  moist  smell  of  steam  radia- 
tors, and  the  unmistakable  and  indescrib- 
able smell  of  naked  bodies  which  threw 
my  recollection  back  to  school  and  college 
gymnasia.  At  a  desk  by  the  window  the 
surgeon  faced  the  room;  two  assistants 
stood  beside  him;  along  the  side  of  the 
room  three  or  four  yeomen  at  tables  re- 
corded the  results  of  the  examination. 

The  test  was  severe,  and  from  our  little 
squad  of  seventeen,  two  were  cast  out  for 
defective  eyesight,  one  for  stricture,  two 
for  heart  trouble,  and  another  for  some 
imperfection  of  the  foot.  Weighed,  meas- 
ured, tested  for  eyesight  and  color-sight, 
identified  by  scars  and  blemishes,  we 
dressed  and  then  recorded  our  finger- 
prints on  the  voluminous  record,  which 
grew  as  the  examination  progressed.  It 
was  late  afternoon  and  the  electric  lights 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.       5 

were  lighted  when  we  finally  stood  before 
the  desk  of  the  last  officer,  and,  with  right 
hand  lifted,  touched  the  Book  with  our 
left  and  swore  to  follow  the  flag  by  sea 
or  land  wherever  the  fate  of  war  might 
call  us. 

In  "Two  Years  Before  the  Mast"  I 
recollect  the  phrase,  "There  is  not  so 
helpless  and  pitiable  an  object  in  the 
world  as  a  landsman  beginning  a  sailor's 
life";  and  in  that  long  first  day  of  my  ad- 
mission to  the  Navy  I  began  to  realize  — 
in  but  small  measure,  to  be  sure  —  the 
tremendous  change  that  I  was  soon  to 
experience,  and  the  vastness  of  the  educa- 
tion that  I  must  acquire  before  I  could 
hope  to  be  of  even  slight  value  in  a  sailor's 
capacity. 

The  Great  Lakes  Naval  Training  Sta- 
tion was  originally  built  in  1911,  to  care 
for  sixteen  hundred  men.  But  with  the 


6  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

declaration  of  war  with  Germany,  the  en- 
largement of  its  capacity  was  begun  on  a 
stupendous  scale.  South,  north,  and  west 
of  the  station,  additional  acreage  was 
acquired,  and  under  the  direction  of  en- 
listed engineers  and  architects  complete 
villages  or  camps  were  built,  increasing 
the  capacity  of  the  station  to  over  twenty 
thousand  men.  Although  the  new  con- 
struction was  only  for  emergency  pur- 
poses, on  land  leased  for  the  duration  of 
the  war  and  a  year  beyond,  nothing  was 
omitted  by  which  the  comfort  of  the  men 
might  be  increased,  their  health  main- 
tained, and  the  efficiency  of  their  training 
most  expeditiously  promoted.  They  were 
grouped  in  camps,  each  holding  several 
thousand  men;  the  barracks  of  each  camp 
were  arranged  about  a  central  square  or 
drill-ground,  and  each  camp  was  provided 
with    its    central    steam-heating    plant. 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.        7 

mess-kitchen,  laundry,  dispensary,  hospi- 
tal, drill-halls,  and  such  buildings  as  are 
necessary  for  the  officers  and  the  storage 
and  distribution  of  supplies,  as  well  as  a 
system  of  hot  and  cold  water,  complete 
sewerage,  electric  lighting,  and  fire  hy- 
drants. 

In  order  that  as  much  of  the  material 
as  possible  may  be  salvaged  when  the  war 
is  over  and  the  temporary  buildings  are 
taken  down,  each  building  was  so  de- 
signed that  it  might  be  constructed  of 
boards  and  timbers  of  stock  sizes,  without 
cutting,  so  put  together  that  the  buildings 
can  be  resolved  into  approximately  the 
identical  piles  of  lumber  from  which  they 
were  built. 

Each  day  hundreds  of  recruits  pass 
through  Chicago  on  their  way  to  the  sta- 
tion. From  every  corner  of  the  United 
States,  from  every  walk  of  life  and  repre- 


8  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

senting  practically  every  vocation,  they 
swell  the  ever-increasing  total  of  our  naval 
forces.  For  about  three  months  they  re- 
main at  the  station:  three  weeks  in  deten- 
tion, then  to  the  main  camp  for  intensive 
training,  and  finally  off  to  sea.  With  sea- 
bags  neatly  packed  and  shouldered,  the 
blue-clad  contingents  depart;  not  with 
the  great  band  playing,  but  by  night,  at 
hours  unknown  to  the  sleeping  world. 
Under  the  stars  the  long  trains  pause,  are 
loaded,  and  are  gone.  A  few  days  later  the 
men  are  put  on  shipboard  at  some  At- 
lantic port. 

In  order  to  prevent  recruits  who  have 
been  exposed  to  contagious  diseases  from 
being  immediately  admitted  to  the  main 
camps,  to  spread  contagion  among  the 
men,  a  detention  camp  is  maintained, 
where  every  recruit  must  pass  three  weeks 
of  complete  isolation  from  the  world  and 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.       9 

the  main  camp.  During  these  three  weeks 
the  men  are  not  only  regularly  examined 
and  constantly  observed  by  the  medical 
staff,  but  the  several  vaccinations  against 
smallpox  and  typhoid  are  administered, 
throat-cultures  tested,  and  other  physi- 
cal examinations  made,  and  the  elemen- 
tary principles  of  seamanship  and  cleanli- 
ness are  inculcated  by  the  commander  in 
charge  of  each  company  of  men. 

I  had  come  in  my  oldest  suit,  which  I 
planned  to  throw  away  as  soon  as  my 
sailor  clothes  were  issued;  and  I  was  a 
little  disappointed  to  find  that  I  should 
not  get  my  uniform  my  first  day  in  camp. 
My  instructions  and  a  friendly  sentry  di- 
rected me  to  Camp  Decatur,  and  here  my 
papers  admitted  me,  past  the  sentry, 
who  was  dressed  like  an  Esquimau  in  his 
great  brown  storm-proof  suit,  to  a  large 
frame  building  of  substantial  construction. 


10  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

where  I  answered  the  innumerable  ques- 
tions of  inquisitive  yeomen,  and  received 
my  temporary  pay-number  and  a  list  of 
clothing  and  other  articles  soon  to  be  sup- 
plied to  me. 

It  is  interesting  to  learn  the  care  which 
the  Navy  Department  exercises  in  thor- 
oughly equipping  its  men,  and  it  is  par- 
ticularly gratifying,  that,  despite  the  fact 
that  each  week  many  hundred  recruits 
enter  the  station  and  are  fully  equipped, 
there  is  apparently  an  abundance  of  every 
article  that  the  recruit  requires  for  his 
complete  outfit. 

A  white  hammock,  a  blue  mattress 
(which  also  serves  as  a  life-preserver  at 
sea),  a  white  cotton  mattress-cover,  two 
thick  white  blankets,  and  a  large  bath- 
towel  were  immediately  given  to  me,  and 
these  were  plainly  stenciled  with  my 
name  in  black  paint,  in  letters  an  inch 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN.  U.S.N.      11 

high.  With  this  cumbersome  bundle  on 
one  shoulder,  and  in  my  hand  the  ancient 
satchel  that  I  had  brought,  containing  a 
few  toilet  articles,  I  followed  my  guide  to 
the  barrack  designated  as  my  home  for 
the  three  weeks  to  come. 

Deep-set  in  snow,  the  low  green  build- 
ings edged  the  wooded  ravines  which 
empty,  almost  a  mile  away,  into  Lake 
Michigan.  In  and  out,  the  winding  roads 
led  from  group  to  group  of  buildings.  Oc- 
casional groves  of  trees  hinted  of  summer 
shade;  but  to-night,  in  the  dry  cold  air, 
the  street  lights  gleamed  as  sharply  as 
the  stars,  and  struck  a  twinkling  radiance 
from  the  snow.  Here  and  there  the  tall 
black  stacks  of  the  heating-plants  flung  a 
smearing  streak  of  smoke  along  the  light 
evening  breeze;  fires  fed  by  strong  arms 
and  shoulders  which  in  a  few  short  months 
may  be  flinging  like  banks  of  smoke  from 


n         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

racing  destroyers  to  screen  the  protected 
fleet  from  hostile  eyes. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  I  reached  my 
barrack,  half-way  down  one  of  the  long 
streets  on  the  far  south  side  of  the  deten- 
tion camp.  Each  barrack  building  con- 
tains two  entirely  separate  barracks,  each 
accommodating  one  section,  or  twenty- 
four  men.  These  buildings  are  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty  feet  long  by  thirty 
feet  wide,  with  a  dividing  partition  in  the 
middle,  thus  making  each  barrack  about 
sixty  by  thirty  feet.  The  entrances  are  side 
by  side,  and  lead  into  separate  vestibules, 
which,  in  turn,  open  into  the  "head"  or 
wash-room,  and  the  main  sleeping-  and 
living-room.  The  wash-rooms  are  fitted 
with  the  most  modern  white  vitreous  fix- 
tures; there  are  hot  and  cold  showers;  the 
floors  are  of  cement,  and  walls  and  ceiling 
are  painted  white. 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      13 

The  main  barrack-room  occupies  the 
rest  of  the  space,  and  is  Hghted  by  day  by 
six  big  windows  on  each  side  and  four  at 
the  south  end.  Walls,  floor,  and  ceiling  are 
of  bright  clear  matched  pine,  and  the 
sashes,  doors,  and  casements  are  painted 
olive-green.  Radiators  under  the  windows 
keep  the  room  always  comfortably  warm. 
At  the  other  end,  by  the  partition  which 
separates  the  two  barracks,  is  the  scullery, 
which  is  connected  with  the  main  room  by 
a  door,  as  well  as  by  a  large  opening  above 
a  counter  over  which  the  food  is  served. 
As  all  food  is  cooked  in  the  local  mess- 
kitchen,  there  is  no  cooking  done  in  the 
barracks.  Below  the  counter,  on  pine 
shelves,  scrubbed,  as  is  everything  else, 
after  every  meal,  are  neatly  stacked  the 
twenty-four  white  enameled  plates,  cups, 
and  bowls;  and  in  orderly  line  on  the  low- 
est shelf,  lye,  soap,  cleansers,  and  so  forth. 


14  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

are  arranged.  On  the  right  hand  the  wide 
counter  extends  along  the  wall  under 
double  windows,  and  beneath  it  is  a  com- 
partment completely  inclosing  the  gar- 
bage-can, which  can  be  removed  only 
through  doors  opening  to  the  outside  of  the 
building,  and  reached  from  inside  through 
a  circular  hole  in  the  counter  directly 
above  the  can  and  closed  by  an  aluminum 
cover.  The  interior  of  this  compartment 
is  painted  white.  After  every  meal  the  gar- 
bage-can is  removed  by  two  of  the  men, 
the  contents  are  burned  in  the  camp  incin- 
erator, the  can  is  sterilized  with  steam, 
and  the  interior  of  the  compartment 
scrubbed  with  soap  and  water. 

On  the  back  wall  of  the  scullery* is  a 
white  enameled  kitchen  sink  supplied 
with  copious  hot  and  cold  water,  and  be- 
side it  a  large  metal  sterilizer  piped  with 
live  steam,  in  which  all  dishes,  knives. 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      15 

forks  and  spoons  and  dish-rags  are  steril- 
ized for  fifteen  minutes  after  every  meal. 
On  the  fourth  wall,  a  small  cupboard  with 
drawers  contains  the  '* silverware"  and 
the  writing  materials;  and  on  a  shelf 
above  are  such  books  and  magazines  as 
the  men  may  happen  to  possess. 

In  order  to  assure  further  the  sanitary 
condition,  a  pail  of  formaldehyde  solution 
is  kept  at  one  end  of  the  sink,  and  in  this 
is  submerged  the  drinking  cup,  which 
must  be  taken  out  and  rinsed  before  use, 
and  immediately  put  back  into  the  solu- 
tion. 

Half  of  the  main  room  is  occupied  by  a 
long  pine  table  with  a  bench  on  each  side, 
where  the  men  eat,  read,  and  write;  and 
here  along  the  wall  is  a  long  row  of  hooks, 
on  which  each  man's  blue  coat  and  caps 
and  muffler  are  hung. 

The  hammock  is  a  Navy  institution. 


16         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Here,  high  above  the  deck,  Jack  swings  in 
comfort  through  the  night  hours.  Where 
many  men  must  be  housed  in  Httle  space, 
and  where  absolute  cleanHness  is  neces- 
sary, the  hammock  solves  the  problem.  A 
single  piece  of  white  canvas,  six  feet  long 
by  about  four  feet  wide,  is  drawn  together 
at  both  ends  by  a  dozen  ropes,  the  ends  of 
which  are  braided  together  to  metal  rings, 
to  which  are  fastened  the  lashings  by 
which  the  hammock  is  suspended,  tightly 
stretched  between  the  jack-stays.  The  re- 
sult is  a  contraction  of  the  sides  of  the 
hammock,  making  a  receptacle  for  all  the 
world  like  a  magnified  pea-rpod  in  which 
even  an  amatem-  can  sleep  in  comparative 
safety  and  comfort.  The  south  end  of  the 
barrack-room  is  given  over  to  the  ham- 
mocks, which  are  swung  between  the  big 
iron-pipe  jack-stays  in  two  rows  of  twelve 
hammocks  each,  head  and  foot  alternat- 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      17 

ing,  at  a  height  of  about  six  feet  above  the 
floor.  From  the  center  jack-stay  are  hung 
our  big  white  bags,  containing  our  belong- 
ings; and  he  is  indeed  unfortunate  whose 
clothes  or  other  possessions  are  at  any 
time  found  in  any  other  place. 

I  am  perhaps  elaborating  in  too  great 
detail  on  the  equipment  of  the  Navy  bar- 
racks, but  it  is  in  the  belief  that  too  lit- 
tle is  generally  known  of  the  marvelous 
efficiency  which  is  exemplified  in  this 
great  camp  —  an  efficiency  which  can  be 
but  an  expression  of  a  similar  efficiency 
in  the  great  department  of  which  it  is  a 
part. 

The  barrack  was  only  half  occupied, 
and  I  was  warmly  greeted  by  the  men,  as 
complete  uniform  equipment  would  not 
be  issued  until  the  section  of  twenty-four 
men  was  completed.  The  barrack  "chief," 
appointed  by  the  company  commander 


18  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

from  among  the  first  recruits  in  the  bar- 
rack, whose  luckless  job  is  to  maintain 
order  and  neatness  among  his  fellows, 
without  powers  of  punishment,  welcomed 
me  and  showed  me  how  to  lay  my  mat- 
tress in  my  hammock,  fold  my  blankets  so 
that  my  name  showed  clearly,  and  hang 
my  towel  in  an  equally  exact  location  on 
the  foot  lashings  of  the  hammock. 

"Chow!" 

It  was  only  haK-past  four,  but  Jack  is 
an  early  riser,  retires  early,  and  must  be 
fed  accordingly,  with  breakfast  at  six- 
thirty,  dinner  at  eleven-thirty,  and  sup- 
per at  four-thirty.  Through  the  open  door 
two  of  my  new  comrades  suddenly  ap- 
peared, with  a  great  cylinder  swinging 
between  them.  Behind  them  another 
lugged  a  huge  can,  like  the  old-fashioned 
milk-can  but  more  complicated  in  con- 
struction, while  a  fourth  carried  four  long 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      19 

loaves  of  white  bread  in  his  arms.  Depos- 
ited in  the  scullery,  the  top  of  the  cylinder 
was  undamped,  and  from  it  was  lifted  a 
series  of  aluminum  containers  nested  one 
on  another  like  the  vessels  in  a  fireless 
cooker.  And,  in  fact,  here  was  something 
not  far  different;  for  these  containers, 
filled  several  hours  before  in  the  mess- 
kitchen,  were  opened  in  the  barrack  as 
hot  as  when  the  food  left  the  fire;  and 
from  the  apparent  milk-can,  in  reality  a 
glorified  thermos  bottle,  poiu'ed  steaming 
coffee  into  ready  cups. 

We  sat  down  at  the  long  table,  and  my 
first  meal  in  the  Navy  was  consumed  with 
alacrity.  That  meal,  and  every  meal  since, 
has  been  distinctly  good:  no  relishes  or 
frills,  but  good  food,  well-cooked  and 
served  hot.  I  have  since  seen  the  mess- 
kitchen,  and  its  system  and  cleanliness 
are  beyond  reproach.  Beans  are  usually 


20  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

served  at  one  meal  a  day  —  big  red  mealy 
beans,  cooked  almost  to  a  soupy  consist- 
ency. Coffee,  tea,  and  cocoa  are  served 
daily,  coffee  with  breakfast  and  dinner, 
and  tea  or  cocoa  at  night;  but  for  some 
reason  unknown  to  me,  all  are  indiscrimi- 
nately called  "Java."  We  have  meat,  usu- 
ally in  a  stew,  at  least  twice  a  day,  and  al- 
ways two  vegetables  with  dinner.  Bread 
is  provided  with  every  meal,  and  butter 
with  breakfast.  Two  or  three  times  a  week 
we  have  excellent  cereal  with  breakfast, 
and  on  the  other  days  soup  with  dinner. 
Jam  is  often  served  with  supper,  and  we 
have  fresh  apples  or  stewed  fruit  daily. 

Our  barrack  contains  a  strange  assort- 
ment of  men,  but  perhaps  no  stranger 
than  every  other  barrack  in  the  camp. 
Here  are  two  Texas  boys,  who,  during  the 
extreme  weather  of  the  past  few  days. 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      21 

have  clung  tenaciously  to  the  radiators. 
One  was  a  farmer-boy,  another  a  fireman 
on  a  Southern  railroad.  The  head  bell-boy 
of  a  Middle- West  hotel  swings  in  a  ham- 
mock near  my  own,  and  on  one  side  of  me 
is  a  lithe,  alert,  blond-haired  young  man 
of  perhaps  four-and-twenty,  who  in  his 
vicarious  career  has .  peddled  papers, 
"ridden  the  rods,"  bumming  from  town 
to  town,  driven  a  motor-truck,  won  his 
laurels  as  a  successful  prize-fighter,  and 
waited  on  the  table  in  a  city  cabaret  —  of 
all  the  men  he  is  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive, with  a  lively  humor,  a  pleasant  man- 
ner, and  a  quick  sense  of  fair  play.  He 
joined  the  Navy,  he  told  me,  because  it 
"offered  him  the  finest  opportunity  to 
make  a  real  man  of  himself." 

Another  interesting  character  is  a 
young  Wisconsin  farmer-boy.  Of  French 
descent,  from  the  old  Green  Bay  settle- 


22  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ment,  he  has  developed  a  rugged  Ameri- 
can character,  the  result  of  the  purifica- 
tion and  enrichment  of  the  blood  of  an 
ancient  nation  by  three  generations  of 
labor  on  our  northwestern  frontier.  His 
bursts  of  wild  laughter  and  rough  horse- 
play are  constantly  blended  with  senti- 
ment when  mention  is  made  of  the  finer 
things  of  life,  and  with  a  frank  affec- 
tion for  those  who  show  their  friend- 
ship. He  was  the  joint  owner  of  a  small 
farm,  which  he  gave  up  to  join  the  Navy, 
with  apparently  no  thought  of  exemption 
when  duty  shone  clear. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  pessi- 
mist of  our  little  company.  Away  for  the 
first  time  from  home,  he  weathered  the 
early  anguish  of  nostalgia  to  settle  into  a 
fixed  atmosphere  of  constant  gloom.  It 
was  he  who  gathered  voluminous  data 
regarding  supposititious  sickness  in  the 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      23 

camp,  although  it  would  be  hard  to  iSnd 
anywhere  so  large  a  number  of  men  in 
such  splendid  health.  It  was  he  who  al- 
ways told  with  sour  visage  the  latest 
camp-gossip  if  it  held  bad  future  omens. 
I  last  saw  him  on  the  way  to  the  camp 
hospital,  where  he  was  to  have  his  tonsils 
removed;  and  I  think  he  was  really  com- 
placent in  contemplation  of  his  discom- 
fort to  come. 

Of  the  Eastern  colleges,  Amherst  and 
Harvard  are  represented  in  our  barrack 
each  by  one  graduate,  and  there  are  a 
number  of  boys  from  various  State  uni- 
versities of  the  West.  A  painter,  whose 
good-natured  laziness  and  rotund  figure 
immediately  won  him  the  nickname  of 
"Butterfly,"  a  hotel  clerk,  the  assistant 
purchasing  agent  of  a  large  automobile 
company,  a  carpenter,  a  bond  salesman, 
and  a  number  of  youthful  clerks  and  office- 


24  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

boys  complete  our  numbers.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  find  how  many  of  the  recruits  are 
under  draft  age. 

It  is  still  dark  with  the  blackness  of  five 
o'clock  when  the  barrack  chief  calls  us 
in  the  morning  with  his  "Hit  the  deck, 
boys."  Five  minutes  to  tumble  out  into 
the  brilliance  of  the  electric  lights  flashed 
on  sleeping  eyes,  fold  our  blankets,  lash 
up  our  hammocks,  and  get  out  our  toilet 
articles,  is  all  the  time  allowed.  In  line  we 
answer  to  our  names,  and  then  a  rush  to 
the  shower-baths,  with  much  friendly 
"joshing"  and  cheering  as  those  hardy 
ones  who  turn  on  the  cold  water  spatter 
the  crowd. 

As  soon  as  we  are  dressed  comes  the 
first  of  our  three  daily  house-cleanings. 
After  the  entire  room  is  swept  out,  all  the 
cracks  and  corners  are  cleaned  with  water 
and  a  stiff  broom,  and  then  dried  with  a 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      25 

cloth.  Then  the  floor  is  mopped  and  dried, 
and  the  whole  room  carefully  dusted.  The 
same  complete  cleansing  is  at  the  same 
time  given  to  the  "head"  or  wash-room, 
the  scullery,  and  the  vestibule;  and  after 
dinner  and  supper  the  operation  is  re- 
peated. At  least  twice  a  week  all  the  win- 
dows are  washed,  and  a  weekly  scrub- 
bing is  administered  to  our  benches  and 
tables. 

For  four  days  we  cleared  the  ground 
immediately  about  our  barracks  of  the 
winter's  accumulation  of  snow,  which  had 
piled  about  the  buildings  in  four-  or  five- 
foot  drifts.  With  huge  improvised  sleds, 
carts,  boxes,  and  every  possible  kind  of 
receptacle,  the  forty-eight  men  in  the  two 
barracks  beneath  our  roof  loaded  the 
snow  and  dragged  it  to  a  near-by  ravine. 
Under  a  bright  sun  shining  in  a  cloudless 
sky,  hundreds  of  sailors  from  the  other 


26  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

barracks,  like  the  uniformed  students  of 
some  great  university,  dashed  up  and 
down  the  slippery  roads  with  frequent 
coUisions  and  endless  merriment. 

In  command  of  each  company  of  men 
in  the  detention  camp  is  a  young  seaman 
who  has  passed  through  the  School  of  In- 
struction, where  these  men  are  trained  to 
instruct  the  recruits,  not  only  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  drill  and  seamanship,  but  es- 
pecially in  cleanliness,  both  personal  and 
general,  and  in  deportment  and  obedi- 
ence. Our  company  commander  is  a  fine 
big  Texan,  with  a  soft  southern  inflection, 
a  ready  smile,  and  a  rigidity  of  purpose 
that  compels  prompt  obedience.  As  likely 
as  not  he  will  appear  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing to  catch  the  laggard  riser,  or  at  mid- 
night to  check  the  man  on  watch  in  the 
barrack-room.  By  day  he  is  our  counselor 
and  guide  and  drill-master.  Under  his 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      27 

crisp  commands  the  long  blue-clad  lines 
tramp  back  and  forth  across  the  snow- 
packed  drill-ground.  ''Squads  right  into 
line,  march!"  and  we  swing  sharply  past 
him.  A  dozen  other  companies  are  drilling 
also,  under  their  respective  commanders. 
It  is  an  inspiring  scene. 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival  our  barrack 
quota  was  completed,  and  we  marched 
down  to  headquarters  to  receive  our  com- 
plete outfit.  Up  to  this  time  we  all  had  to 
a  certain  extent  retained  our  past  identity; 
by  the  cut  and  fashion  of  our  garments  we 
clung  to  our  little  niche  in  civil  life.  But 
now  all  past  identification  was  swept 
aside.  Rapidly  we  stripped,  in  a  great 
white-painted  room,  casting  to  one  side 
all  articles  we  did  not  wish  to  save,  and 
tying  in  a  bundle  the  garments  we  might 
wish  to  send  home.  Through  a  door  the 
naked  column  passed,  and  here  we  were 


28  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

sorted  into  two  files,  each  of  perhaps  a 
hundred  men.  We  had  brought  our  big 
cotton  mattress-covers  with  us,  and  using 
these  as  bags,  we  passed  to  the  end  of  the 
room,  across  which  was  a  long  counter. 
Behind  the  counter  a  dozen  men  served  us 
with  the  various  articles  of  our  equip- 
ment, which  they  tossed,  into  our  bags 
with  lightning-like  rapidity  and  accuracy. 
And  so  specialized  were  they  that  a  single 
glance  at  each  man  as  he  neared  the  coun- 
ter was  sufficient  measurement  by  which 
to  supply  him  with  exactly  the  proper  size 
and  fit  of  garment.  With  distended  bags 
we  paused  again  in  the  back  of  the  room, 
hurriedly  dressed,  and  again  formed  in 
line.  And  now,  as  we  stood  fast,  inspectors 
passed  rapidly  down  the  columns,  to  see 
that  each  man  had  been  properly  provided 
with  shoes,  trousers,  and  other  garments 
of    the   right    size.    Wherever    anything 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      29 

wrong  was  discovered,  the  fault  was  im- 
mediately corrected. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  enumerate  the 
various  articles  provided  each  sailor  by 
the  Government  for  his  personal  equip- 
ment. The  following  items  are  copied  from 
my  "Clothing  and  Small  Store  Requisi- 
tion," and  are  issued  to  the  recruits  as  the 
articles  are  needed: 

One  pair  of  arctics,  one  pair  of  bath- 
ing trunks,  two  woolen  blankets,  whisk- 
broom,  scrub-brush,  shoe-brush,  assorted 
buttons,  needles,  and  thread,  clothes- 
stops  for  tying  each  garment  in  a  com- 
pact roll,  knitted  cap  called  a  "watch 
cap,"  cloth  "pan-cake"  cap,  cap-ribbon, 
comb,  two  sets  of  heavy  underwear,  four 
sets  of  summer  underwear,  woolen  gloves, 
a  dozen  handkerchiefs,  two  white  hats, 
jackknife,  blue  knitted  jersey,  two  white 
jumpers  and  trousers,  pair  of  leggins,  silk 


so  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

neckerchief,  heavy  blue  overcoat,  blue 
overshirt  and  trousers,  two  towels,  soap, 
six  pairs  of  woolen  socks,  and  a  pair  of 
high  shoes.  All  this  is  provided  without 
cost  to  the  recruit. 

To  complete  our  equipment  we  were,  a 
few  days  later,  supplied  with  Red  Cross 
"comfort  kits,"  and  although  they  con- 
tained some  duplications  of  our  govern- 
ment equipment,  they  filled  a  big  want 
and  were  promptly  put  in  use  by  every 
one.  Socks,  mufflers,  and  wristlets  also 
were  given  out,  and  these  were  particu- 
larly appreciated,  because  of  the  sever- 
ity of  the  weather  a'nd  our  out-of-door 
life. 

There  are  many  hours  in  Detention, 
especially  after  supper,  when  time  hangs 
heavily,  and  to  the  Y.M.C.A.  I  owe  a  debt 
of  gratitude  for  a  slim  shelf  of  books 
over  the  scullery  sink,  which  the  local 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      31 

Y.M.C.A.  representative  changes  weekly. 
Collected  from  households  throughout 
the  county,  these  volumes  possessed  a 
rare  variety.  The  first  week  it  was 
"School-Days  at  Rugby"  that  stood 
boldly  forth  from  the  best-selling  but  less 
enduring  volumes  of  more  recent  days. 
The  next  week  came  another  assortment, 
and  then  it  was  "Trilby,"  with  Little 
Billee,  Taffy,  and  the  Laird,  who  helped 
me  keep  my  thoughts  from  wandering  too 
often  homeward. 

Every  Saturday  morning  we  are  "in- 
spected." Dressed  in  our  blue  suits,  we 
stand  at  attention,  with  all  our  posses- 
sions spread  at  our  feet  on  our  clean  white 
bags.  Every  garment  is  carefully  rolled, 
according  to  an  exact  method,  into  a  tight 
smooth  roll,  tied  three  inches  from  each 
end  with  a  white  "stop,"  or  cord,  knotted 
in  a  square  knot.  All  the  blue  bundles  are 


32  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

in  one  row,  white  bundles  in  another,  and 
each  garment  is  so  rolled  that  the  sten- 
ciled name  of  the  owner  appears  in  the 
center  of  the  roll.  With  swinging  swords 
and  full  uniform,  the  officers  check  up  our 
belongings  and  their  appearance,  and 
carefully  inspect  the  cleanliness  of  the 
barrack,  running  white-gloved  fingers 
along  the  door-tops,  in  the  sink,  and  along 
scullery  shelves.  A  dirty  window  or  a 
trace  of  dust  brings  the  punishment  of 
additional  work  in  the  week  to  come;  but 
punishment  is  rarely  necessary. 

Sickness  is  the  constant  foe  of  any  large 
body  of  men,  but  there  can  be  little  sick- 
ness here.  First  of  all.  Detention  itself, 
through  which  every  man  must  pass  be- 
fore entering  the  camp,  practically  elimi- 
nates all  possibility  of  the  introduction  of 
sickness  by  fresh  recruits.  Furthermore, 
the  breaking  up  of  the  men  in  Detention 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      33 

into  several  sections  of  twenty-four  men, 
each  section  segregated  from  the  others, 
prevents  the  spread  of  sickness  in  the 
Detention  camp.  Conveniently  located 
throughout  Detention  are  a  number  of 
completely  equipped  hospitals  and  dis- 
pensaries, where  the  recruits  are  cared  for 
when  indisposed.  An  amusing  rule,  but 
one  obviously  necessary  when  the  remedy 
is  not  palatable,  is  that  the  patient  for 
whom  pills  or  gargles  are  prescribed  must 
present  himself  at  the  dispensary  at  the 
required  hours,  and  take  the  remedy  un- 
der the  eyes  of  one  of  the  doctors. 

Filled  with  healthful  work  and  drills 
that  are  a  recreation,  the  days  have 
passed  quickly.  Each  evening  we  sit  at 
the  long  white-scrubbed  pine  mess-table 
and  write  letters  home,  read,  study,  and 
sew.  Then  there  is  laundry  work  to  be 
done,  for  we  seem  to  take  pride  in  wash- 


S4         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ing  our  own  clothes,  as  it  will  soon  be 
necessary  for  us  to  do  on  shipboard.  Oc- 
casionally we  have  an  entertainment, 
which  consists  of  the  Y.M.C.A.  phono- 
graph with  its  dozen  worn  records,  an 
impromptu  sparring  bout,  or,  more  often, 
an  improvised  band  with  a  strange  vari- 
ety of  instruments,  to  which  all  keep  time 
with  tapping  feet  and  cheers  for  "Dixie" 
and  "Columbia,  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean." 
By  nine  we  are  ready  for  our  hammocks, 
and  deep  breathing  and  occasional  snores 
are  flagrant,  often  before  the  guard  has 
opened  the  last  window.  Sometimes  dur- 
ing the  night  I  wake  with  a  sudden  start, 
and  as  my  eyes  catch  the  matched-board 
ceiling  so  close  above  me,  yellow  in  the 
glare  of  a  near-by  street  light  which 
shines  in  through  the  window,  my 
thoughts  carry  me  far  away  before  sleep 
comes  again.  I  am  sure  that  there  are 


ORDINARY  SEAMEN,  U.S.N.      35 

many  such  thoughts  here,  although  such 
things  are  rarely  mentioned. 

It  was  a  bright  blue  morning  and  the 
sun  was  still  stalking  low  behind  the  trees, 
when  a  bugle-note  brought  me  suddenly 
to  a  halt.  I  was  passing  a  turn  in  the  road 
when  it  reached  me.  Everywhere  blue- 
coated  men  and  boys  were  working;  their 
voices  sounded  here  and  there,  word- 
snatches  on  the  breeze.  Half  a  mile  away, 
against  the  pale  western  sky,  a  flagstaff 
pointed  high  above  the  green  buildings. 
Fluttering,  a  flag  was  mounting  to  the 
peak.  I  stiffened  and  a  shiver  seemed  to 
pass  through  me,  the  same  emotional 
shiver  that  comes  when  the  band  goes  by. 
My  hand  snapped  to  salute;  the  flag 
reached  the  peak,  and  the  red  stripes  and 
star-flecked  blue  stood  out  against  the 
sky. 


II 

STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA 
The  three  longest  weeks  of  my  life  were 
my  three  weeks  in  Detention,  and  yet, 
to  make  a  paradox,  the  time  passed  with 
surprising  rapidity.  With  the  soft  spring 
warmth  now  filling  the  air,  and  a  brush  of 
green  over  the  surrounding  fields,  those 
three  snowbound  weeks  seem  long  ago.  I 
suppose  it  is  because  there  have  been  so 
many  changes  since;  and  every  change 
you  make  in  the  Navy  seems  revolution- 
ary and  drastic. 

There  were  about  two  thousand  men  in 
Detention  —  boys,  more  properly  speak- 
ing, for  the  average  age  was  slightly  less 
than  twenty.  Each  day  a  bunch  of  raw  re- 
cruits began  their  life  there,  to  fill  the 
places  of  those  who,  having  passed  their 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         37 

period  of  inspection  and  having  received 
the  various  vaccinations,  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  the  great  camp  beyond.  For 
some,  an  exact  three  weeks  was  all  that 
was  required;  for  others,  the  period  was 
longer;  and  those  who  had  seen  a  month 
in  the  camp  were  madly  impatient  to 
shoulder  their  neatly  packed  hammocks 
and  clothes-bags,  and  be  gone  to  take  up 
the  more  intensive  training  for  sea. 

My  detention  period  ended  on  the 
morning  of  the  twenty-second  day,  a  fine 
clear  still  winter  morning,  with  a  below- 
zero  temperature  that  creaked  in  every 
footfall  on  the  dry  packed  snow.  For  two 
days  I  had  been  ready,  "rairing  to  go,"  as 
the  Texas  boys  called  it;  and  when  the  mes- 
sage finally  came  from  the  regimental  head- 
quarters, I  needed  only  a  few  minutes  to 
pack  and  shoulder  my  belongings,  say  good- 
bye to  my  companions,  and  take  my  way. 


S8  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

The  Great  Lakes  Naval  Training  Sta- 
tion comprises  the  main  camp,  a  com- 
plete naval  training  establishment  of 
permanent  brick  buildings,  designed  to 
accommodate  approximately  fifteen  hun- 
dred men.  Surrounding  this  central  unit, 
are  the  great  recent  additions,  occupying 
about  five  hundred  acres,  with  buildings 
of  semi-permanent  construction.  These 
camps  bear  the  suggestive  names  of  naval 
heroes,  and  each  camp  is  complete  in  its 
equipment,  a  naval  training  station  in 
itself.  To-day  the  united  camps  will  ac- 
commodate over  thirty  thousand  men; 
and  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  the 
station  has  sent  more  than  sixty  thousand 
men  to  sea.  It  was  to  the  main  camp  that 
I  was  transferred  from  Detention. 

The  next  few  weeks  passed  with  rela- 
tively little  incident.  I  was  quartered  in 
one  of  the  big  permanent  brick  buildings. 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         39 

and  the  days  were  so  filled  with  ceaseless 
activity  that  time  passed  quickly. 

In  a  great  room  on  the  second  floor  our 
hammocks  were  swung  in  two  long  rows, 
quite  as  they  were  in  Detention;  but  here 
I  was  associated  with  boys  who  had  all 
been  some  time  on  the  station,  and  more 
was  expected  of  us.  Every  morning  at  five 
the  bugles  sounded  through  the  camp: 
first,  one  far  off  and  very  distant  to  sleep- 
filled  ears;  then  others  took  up  the  sum- 
mons; and  before  the  last  notes  were 
stilled  the  Master-at-Arms  was  up  and 
shouting,  **Hit  the  deck,  boys!"  and  we 
were  drunkenly  swinging  down  from  our 
hammocks,  a  good  seven  feet,  to  the  floor 
below. 

The  company  was  divided  each  week 
into  details,  each  with  its  particular  work 
to  perform.  To  our  detail  the  floors,  al- 
ways spoken  of  as  "the  deck,"  were  given 


40  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

to  be  scrubbed,  mopped,  and  dried.  An- 
other detail  polished  the  wash-room  or 
"head,"  to  immaculate  brilliancy.  I  was 
on  a  "sidewalk  detail,"  and  with  half  a 
dozen  others  cleaned  the  concrete  walks 
about  the  building  of  snow  or  dust,  as 
conditions  demanded. 

There  was  something  about  those 
morning  hours  that  most  of  all  identifies 
to  me  my  sojourn  in  the  Main  Camp. 
Clear,  cold  mornings  many  of  them  were, 
when  with  brooms  we  brushed  a  powder 
of  snow  from  the  walk,  often  by  moon- 
light. Often  in  those  cold  dark  mornings, 
as  we  brushed  the  kitchen  steps  of  the 
mess-hall  we  would  scent  on  the  warm  air 
from  opened  windows  a  rich  fragrance 
that  is  unforgettable.  Breakfast  for  the 
petty  ofiicers'  mess  was  on  the  fires,  and 
the  aroma  of  bacon,  with  its  suggested 
complement  of  fried  eggs,  filled  stomachs 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         41 

empty  from  five  to  a  seven-o'clock  break- 
fast with  infinite  craving.  Reluctantly  we 
turned  our  faces  and  bent  to  our  sweep- 
ing. Then  as  the  moon  slowly  set  behind 
the  mess-hall,  the  dawn  flushed  the  East 
with  light  behind  the  black  silhouette  of 
the  Administration  Building,  and  with 
fingers  numb  with  cold  we  tramped  back 
to  the  barrack. 

Two  thousand  sailors  ate  together  in 
each  of  the  two  dining-rooms  of  the  main 
mess-hall.  It  was  a  well-ordered  crew,  but 
the  sound  of  so  many  voices,  and  the  rat- 
tle of  knives,  forks,  and  dishes  made  a 
tumult  that  could  be  heard  a  block.  At 
noon  a  part  of  the  band  played,  while  we 
ate,  all  the  popular  airs  that  the  boys 
seemed  never  to  tire  of.  It  was  fulsome 
music,  with  much  brass  and  a  great  beat- 
ing of  drums;  but  it's  the  way  to  make 
**Over  There"  send  a  thrill  through  you. 


42  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Mess  was  served  by  a  white-clad  "mess 
detail,"  and  everything  was  put  on  the 
white  board  tables  with  a  filled  plate  at 
each  place,  before  the  men  marched  in. 
Navy  slang  is  required,  and  were  a  bill-of- 
fare  printed,  you  would  see  "Java"  for 
tea  or  coffee,  "punk"  for  bread,  "sand" 
for  salt,  and  something  that  sounds  like 
"slumgullion"  for  any  kind  of  stew. 

Our  days  were  filled  with  drilling  in  the 
drill-hall,  and,  in  fact,  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  of  the  recruit  while  on  the  station 
is  taken  up  with  foot-drill.  It  is  difficult  to 
teach  seamanship  to  landsmen  on  a  sta- 
tion, especially  during  the  winter  months; 
and  even  were  an  intensive  course  in  sea- 
manship practical,  it  could  not  give  the 
fundamental  value  derived  from  these 
few  weeks  of  drill.  It  is  impossible  to  de- 
scribe the  change  which  this  work  quickly 
brings  in  the  whole  physical  and  mental 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         43 

bearing  of  the  recruits.  From  a  mob  of 
slouching  individuals,  a  few  short  weeks 
of  training  develops  a  company  of  alert 
and  well-set-up  men.  Back  and  forth  on 
the  smooth  floor  the  companies  pass, 
white-shod  legs  swinging  in  perfect  syn- 
chronism, shoulders  thrown  back,  and 
chins  drawn  in  above  bare  throats.  On 
every  shoulder  the  gun-barrels  slant  in 
parallel  lines;  feet  beat  a  drum  cadence 
on  the  floor.  Company  commanders  and 
petty  officers  shout  crisp  commands; 
there  is  a  rhythm  of  drums;  the  dark  blue 
lines  break  to  form  "Company  square," 
or  "on  right  into  line." 

On  Wednesday  we  passed  in  review  be- 
fore the  commanding  officer.  With  our 
leggins  and  braids  scrubbed  to  snowy 
whiteness,  we  swung  down  the  hall  be- 
hind the  band.  There  are  bands  and 
bands,  but  the  Navy  bands  play  a  music 


44  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

of  their  own;  there  is  a  spirit  in  their  fast 
marches  that  makes  you  forget  every- 
thing; you  would  follow  on  anywhere. 

Often  in  the  early  morning,  while  we 
were  still  sweeping  the  sidewalks,  distant 
calls  and  cheers  would  tell  us  of  a  draft 
leaving  for  sea;  and  sometimes  we  would 
see  the  long  dark  columns  marching  to 
their  trains.  There  was  no  band  at  their 
head,  but  none  was  needed;  and  even  the 
intermittent  cheers  from  opened  windows 
brought  a  vivid  realization  of  why  we 
were  here  and  what  it  was  all  about. 

Curiously,  there  is  little  discussion  of 
the  war  at  the  station.  There  is  too  much 
to  occupy  us,  to  leave  time  for  specula- 
tion. Every  one  knows  he  will  some  day  go 
to  sea;  a  vague  realization  to  most  of  the 
boys,  for  very  few  have  ever  seen  the 
ocean,  and  many  have  never  even  seen 
anything  bigger  than  a  row-boat.  The 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         45 

general  desire  is  to  see  Paris,  and  it  is  con- 
fidently assured  that  this  will  be  granted, 
and  that  at  some  later  date  we  shall  prob- 
ably march  in  triumph  through  Berlin, 
with  the  station  band  at  the  head  playing 
a  Sousa  march.  Then  we  will  all  come 
home  and  be  comfortable  heroes  for  the 
rest  of  our  days.  Germany  is  personified 
in  the  Kaiser;  and  whenever  he  is  men- 
tioned, it  is  usually  in  relation  to  some 
picturesque  form  of  personal  violence 
that  the  speaker  hopes  he  may  wreak 
upon  him.  It  is  a  happy-go-lucky  crowd, 
filled  with  youth  and  enthusiasm. 

In  connection  with  the  cheerful  uncon- 
cern of  the  average  recruit,  it  is  hard  not 
to  mention  its  relation  to  the  effect  which 
the  death  of  one  of  the  boys  has  upon  his 
fellows.  In  so  large  a  community  sickness 
is  sometimes  fatal;  and  although,  consid- 
ering our  numbers,  these  occasions  are 


46  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

rare,  there  is  now  and  then  a  call  for  a 
"firing  squad,"  if  a  sailor's  burial  is  to  be 
held  in  Chicago  or  some  near-by  town.  At 
these  times  the  prospect  of  a  trip,  despite 
the  occasion,  brings  many  times  the  re- 
quired quota  of  volunteers,  and  the  squad 
invariably  departs  with  a  holiday  aspect. 
On  their  return  the  two  chief  topics  of 
conversation  center  on  the  appearance  of 
the  deceased  and  the  meals  which  the 
party  enjoyed;  and  the  next  day  we  are 
drilling  again,  and  the  world  moves  quite 
as  cheerfully  as  before. 

In  the  eyes  of  our  captain  we  are  boys, 
and,  to  be  sure,  our  average  age  is  scarcely 
twenty.  In  those  years  between  seventeen 
and  twenty  character  is  moulded,  and  it 
is  here  that  the  navy  in  general,  and  per- 
haps this  station  in  particular,  performs 
its  greatest  service  to  the  country.  From 
these  months  of  healthful  exercise  and 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         47 

clean  environment  comes  a  strengthening 
of  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical  fiber; 
there  is  born  a  sense  of  unity,  order,  and 
discipline;  right  and  wrong  are  clearly  sep- 
arated and  character  is  brought  forward 
as  an  honorable  and  desirable  attribute. 

In  an  essay,  *'A  Twentieth-Century 
Outlook,"  written  not  long  before  his 
death,  the  late  Captain  A.  T.  Mahan 
voices  an  opinion  that  finds  fulfillment  in 
the  Great  Lakes  Station,  by  a  happy  coin- 
cidence to-day  commanded  by  a  man  at 
one  time  his  aide : 

"Is  it  nothing,  in  an  age  when  authority 
is  weakening  and  restraints  are  loosening, 
that  the  youth  of  a  nation  passes  through 
a  school  in  which  order  and  obedience  and 
reverence  are  learned,  where  the  body  is 
systematically  developed,  where  ideals  of 
self-surrender,  of  courage,  of  manhood, 
are   inculcated,    necessarily,    because   of 


48         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

fundamental  conditions  of  military  suc- 
cess? Is  it  nothing  that  youths  out  of  the 
fields  and  the  streets  are  brought  to- 
gether, mingled  with  others  of  higher  in- 
tellectual antecedents,  taught  to  work 
and  to  act  together,  mind  in  contact  with 
mind,  and  carrying  back  into  civil  life 
that  respect  for  constituted  authority 
which  is  urgently  needed  in  these  days 
when  lawlessness  is  erected  into  a  religion? 
It  is  a  suggestive  lesson  to  watch  the  ex- 
pression and  movements  of  a  number  of 
rustic  conscripts  undergoing  their  first 
drill,  and  to  contrast  them  with  the  fin- 
ished results  as  seen  in  the  faces  and  bear- 
'  ing  of  the  soldiers  that  throng  the  streets. 
A  military  training  is  not  the  worst  prepa- 
ration for  an  active  life,  any  more  than 
the  years  spent  at  college  are  time  lost,  as 
another  school  of  Militarians  insists." 
In  connection  with  the  part  the  Navy 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         49 

plays  in  preparing  boys  "for  an  active 
life,"  no  better  illustrations  could  be 
found  to  verify  Admiral  Mahan's  conten- 
tion than  here  before  my  eyes.  Foremost 
come  those  general  fundamental  build- 
ers of  character  which  are  here  taught 
and  inspired  —  subordination,  discipline, 
team-play,  cleanliness,  and  the  readiness 
instantly  to  obey.  With  minds  and  bodies 
well-ordered,  the  boys  are  separated  into 
groups,  to  specialize  according  to  their 
past  experience  or  inclination.  In  the  Yeo- 
man School  hundreds  of  young  men  are 
learning  stenography,  typewriting,  and 
the  fundamentals  of  their  mother  tongue. 
For  paymaster  advancements  others  are 
taking  up  studies,  including  finance,  po- 
litical economy,  geography,  and  mathe- 
matics. In  the  Department  of  Public 
Works,  engineers,  architects,  and  drafts- 
men are  being  made.  Here,  with  the  in- 


50  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

spiration  of  the  tapering  towers,  often  lost 
aloft  in  morning  mists,  others  learn  to 
send  "winged  words."  In  the  hospitals 
some  are  taught  the  merciful  arts  of  heal- 
ing, and  almost  a  thousand,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  world's  greatest  band- 
master, are  learning  to  stir  men's  souls 
with  music.  But  chief  of  all,  in  the  many 
schools  for  seamanship,  they  are  learning 
to  guide  our  argosies  from  sea  to  sea,  in 
the  peaceful  years  to  come,  and  to  bring 
back  the  heritage  of  the  past.  Nor  must 
I  fail  to  mention  that  great  school  of 
ground  aviation,  where  several  thousand 
are  learning  the  intricacies  of  our  com- 
ing navy  of  the  sky.  We  have  here  a  vast 
university,  with  a  curriculum  that  builds 
strongly  for  the  future. 

My  departure  from  the  main  station  to 
one  of  the  big  outlying  camps  came  —  as 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         51 

all  things  seem  to  come  in  the  Navy  —  at 
a  minute's  notice.  It  was  a  Saturday,  and 
I  was  already  in  line  to  march  out  for 
thirty-six  hours'  "shore  leave,"  when  the 
order  came  for  me  to  "shove  off"  for 
Camp  Perry,  to  take  up  the  job  of  assist- 
ant company  commander  in  the  Sixth 
Regiment. 

The  rank  of  company  commander  is 
peculiar,  I  believe,  to  the  Great  Lakes 
Station.  From  the  recruits,  from  time  to 
time,  men  are  selected  to  act  as  chiefs  of 
companies  of  approximately  one  hundred 
and  fifty  men.  They  are  to  their  compa- 
nies as  a  captain  in  the  army  is  to  the  men 
under  him  —  a  commander  in  drills,  re- 
sponsible for  the  welfare,  cleanliness,  and 
comfort  of  the  men,  and  responsible  fur- 
ther for  the  condition  of  the  barracks  in 
which  they  live.  In  the  front  of  each  bar- 
rack, facing  the  company  street,  is  the 


52  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

room  of  the  company  commander  and  his 
assistant.  In  the  rear,  in  two  long  bar- 
racks, the  men  swing  the  white  hammocks 
from  iron  jackstays  high  above  the  deck. 
Under  the  company  commander  are  the 
company  clerk,  who  checks  the  muster- 
roll  and  attends  to  the  clerical  details, 
and  two  chiefs  of  section,  who  exercise  an 
under-authority  over  the  men  and  lead 
their  respective  sections  in  drill. 
*  Camp  Perry  was  filled  with  men  who 
had  practically  completed  their  sojourn 
on  the  station,  and  many  of*- them  were 
serving  their  second  "hitch,"  or  reenlist- 
ment  in  the  Navy.  I  had,  up  to  this  time, 
known  only  the  credulous  recruit,  and  my 
new  experience  with  a  crowd  erudite  in 
station  ways  was  at  first  discouraging.  In 
the  eyes  of  a  sea-going  "salty"  sailor  we 
are  all  landsmen,  and  hence  "rookies," 
until  we  have  made  one  cruise;  but  even 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         63 

among  rookies  there  are  grades  of  distinc- 
tion, and^'every  man  is  almost  childishly 
eager  to  have,  at  least,  a  "sea-going"  ap- 
pearance, although  he  may  never  have 
smelled  salt  water.  Our  leggins,  for  in- 
stance, when  new,  are  a  rich  tan  color,  but 
the  constant  scrubbing  of  months  bleaches 
them  snowy  white.  Accordingly,  the  few 
weeks'  recruit  soon  learns  to  spend  in- 
credible energy  bleaching  his  leggins 
by  artificial  means,  to  approximate  the 
longer  enlisted  men,  and  any  recipe  is 
eagerly  accepted  to  attain  the  desired  end. 
I  remember,  in  Detention,  how  a  number 
of  the  boys  utilized  the  otherwise  futile 
can  of  talcum  powder  provided  in  our  Red 
Cross  kits  to  powder  their  leggins  each 
morning.  And  an  enterprising  tailor  in  the 
near-by  city  of  Waukegan  must  have  ac- 
quired a  small  fortune  sewing  stiff  with 
cotton  thread  the  brims  of  our  white  hats. 


54  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

to  give  them  the  desired  "salty"  appear- 
ance. 

There  are  many  types  of  men  here,  but 
they  quickly  become  distinguishable  and 
fall  into  natural  groups.  Of  these  one  is 
the  "hard-boiled"  variety  that  delights 
in  harmless  bullying,  and  when  given  a 
little  authority,  becomes  sometimes  a 
burden  to  the  rest  of  the  community. 
Most  of  our  "hard-boiled"  members  have 
achieved  their  reputation  with  the  hope 
that  it  would  give  them  a  bearing  sup- 
posedly more  seafaring.  There  are  a  few 
who  are  natural  bullies,  but  they  are  the 
minority;  in  the  majority  of  cases,  how- 
ever, the  men  are  without  affectation, 
natural  in  their  ways  and  speech,  glad  to 
exchange  letters  from  home,  and  una- 
shamed to  show  their  finer  emotions 
when  the  occasion  arises. 

There  were  about  fifteen  hundred  men 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         55 

in  the  Sixth,  and  for  the  most  part  they 
were  enhsted  in  the  ground-aviation 
branch  of  the  service  —  expert  motor 
machinists  from  the  great  automobile 
factories  of  Detroit,  taxi-drivers,  garage 
workers,  machinists,  and  a  general  mix- 
ture of  various  trades  combined  into  one 
unit.  Several  of  the  men  in  my  company 
wore  red  "hash  marks" — a  diagonal 
band  of  red  on  the  sleeve,  just  above  the 
cuflF,  each  mark  signifying  an  enlistment 
in  the  Navy.  To  these  was  accorded  a  natu- 
ral deference  due  to  their  long  experience, 
and  their  habits  of  dress  and  speech  were 
quietly  observed  as  a  pattern  to  follow. 
From  them  also,  in  the  few  idle  periods 
that  were  allowed  us,  came  tales  of  foreign 
ports,  of  target  practice,  of  the  fleet,  and 
of  "shore  liberty"  in  every  quarter  of  the 
world,  with  the  inevitable  wind-up  of  a 
free-for-all  to  the  ultimate  victory  of  the 


56         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Yankee  tar  over  the  crew  of  some  foreign 
battleship. 

Our  entertainment  is  well  provided.  In 
the  great  drill-halls  are  shown  nightly  the 
latest  moving-picture  films,  and  on  fre- 
quent occasions  complete  theatrical  pro- 
ductions are  gratuitously  staged  by  the 
managements  of  the  Chicago  theaters. 
Never,  I  imagine,  have  some  of  the  actors 
and  actresses  received  such  ovations. 
Only  a  few  nights  ago  I  attended  a  vaude- 
ville performance.  Three  thousand  sailors 
crowded  the  front  seats  in  the  vast  drill- 
hall.  A  sailor  orchestra  played  the  overr 
ture.  Then,  before  the  curtain  appeared  a 
woman  in  an  evening  gown  of  the  rich 
theatrical  vogue,  and  to  the  silent  hall  she 
sang  a  new  topical  song,  to  the  effect  that 
we  had  crossed  the  Delaware,  we  had 
crossed  the  Rio  Grande,  and  we  would 
cross  the  Rhine.  At  the  last  note  a  roar 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         57 

burst  from  the  audience.  Again  and  again 
she  repeated  the  last  verse;  and  when  she 
finally  left  the  stage,  she  was  weeping,  and 
the  crowd  had  taken  up  the  refrain  under 
the  guidance  of  the  waving  arms  of  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra. 

The  manly  art  of  self-defense  is  not 
neglected  in  our  curriculum,  nor,  for  that 
matter,  are  any  of  the  sports  that  bring 
recreation  to  healthy  men  and  boys.  A 
former  champion  of  the  Atlantic  fleet, 
now  an  ensign,  U.S.N.,  is  in  charge  of  the 
boxing,  and  from  our  great  numbers  is 
drawn  a  wealth  of  pugilistic  material.  On 
Wednesday  evenings  in  the  winter,  and  in 
summer  in  the  afternoons  in  a  natural 
amphitheater,  the  talent  of  the  several 
camps  is  matched  in  the  ring;  and  before 
the  cheering  white-clad  audience  nerve, 
skill,  and  determination  are  matched  in 
clean-cut  bouts  which  give  indication  of 


58  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

the  spirit  that  is  here  undergoing  training 
to  meet  on  another  day,  in  more  bloody- 
fields,  an  antagonist  who  may  not  play 
so  closely  to  the  rules  of  the  celebrated 
marquis. 

Athletics  are  an  important  part  of  the 
life  of  a  sailor.  On  sea  there  are  frequent 
boat-races  between  ships  of  the  fleet,  and 
at  the  station  we  find  equivalent  competi- 
tive exercise  in  boxing,  track-races,  and 
football  and  baseball  games  between  the 
teams  of  the  several  camps.  In  winter  the 
basket-ball  team  makes  a  fairly  extensive 
tour  of  the  country,  and  such  trips  of  the 
athletic  teams  have  their  positive  value  in 
attracting  young  men  of  virile  type  to  the 
Navy.  Wrestling  is  another  sport  that 
brings  to  the  front  the  manhood  of  the 
boy,  and  I  have  seen  a  thousand  faces 
tense  in  the  white  electric  light  following 
the  snaky  twistings  of  the  heroes  of  the 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         59 

padded  ring,  impulsive  cheers  recognizing 
the  subtlety  of  each  particular  hold.  In 
the  basement  of  one  of  the  main  buildings 
is  a  large  white  swimming-pool;  on  the 
floor  above,  a  complete  gymnasium  stands 
open  for  the  use  of  the  sailors;  and  in  an- 
other part  of  the  same  building  is  a  bowl- 
ing-alley. Jack's  physical  fitness  and  en- 
tertainment seem  assured. 

It  would  be  ingratitude  to  fail  to  men- 
tion the  various  buildings  maintained 
through  different  organizations  by  pub- 
lic contribution,  for  the  recreation  and 
amusement  of  the  enlisted  men.  First,  if 
for  no  other  reason  than  by  the  scope  of 
its  operation,  is  the  Y.M.C.A.,  and  the 
Great  Lakes  is  fortunate  in  possessing  at 
least  half  a  score  of  these  practical  build- 
ings. In  them  are  provided  writing  mate- 
rials and  desks,  and  this  alone,  I  am  confi- 
dent, is  responsible  for  fifty  per  cent  of 


60  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

the  *' letters  home" — letters  that  with- 
out this  simple  suggestion  might  never  be 
written.  Here  also  are  big  warm  stoves, 
magazines,  and  occasional  moving  pic- 
tures in  the  evening.  I  am  sorry  that  the 
rules  of  the  station,  due  primarily  to  the 
frame  construction  of  the  buildings,  pro- 
hibit indoor  smoking.  It  is  the  only  thing 
of  the  kind  that  the  Y.M.G.A.  cannot 
afford  us. 

Similar  buildings  are  maintained  with 
equal  eJBiciency  by  the  Knights  of  Colum- 
bus; but  there  are  two  other  activities 
which  seem  to  me  to  deserve  perhaps  even 
more  detailed  mention  than  the  forego- 
ing, because  of  the  fact  that  the  more 
limited  scope  of  their  operations  has  given 
them  less  general  publicity. 

The  Young  Women's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation fills  an  unquestioned  place  in  the 
life  of  our  station.  There  is  something. 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         61 

truly,  in  the  "woman's  touch"  that  can 
be  found  in  no  organization  under  mascu- 
line direction;  and  to  boys  and  men  far 
separated  from  mothers,  wives,  sisters, 
and  sweethearts,  the  open  fires,  chintz 
curtains,  and  dainty  furnishing  of  the 
Y.W.C.A.  Hostess  Houses  give  a  touch 
of  femininity  that  is  tacitly  appreciated. 
But  the  even  greater  function  of  these 
houses,  presided  over  by  gracious  women, 
whose  presence  is  an  inestimable  service, 
is  their  contribution  to  the  station  of  a 
meeting  place  for  men  and  women;  a  right 
environment,  where  mothers  and  fathers 
may^meet  their  boys,  and  where  Nancy 
may  meet  Jack  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  sand- 
wich, and  listen  to  something  or  other  on 
the  phonograph  while  conversation  flows 
on  in  the  quiet  channels  of  decent  sur- 
roundings. /  > 
The  other  organization  that  I  have  in 


62  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

mind  is  the  American  Library  Associa- 
tion. During  the  past  two  months  I  have 
been  stationed  "west  of  the  tracks,"  in 
Camp  Perry,  and,  later,  in  Camp  Dewey. 
Midway  between  is  the  building  of  the 
A.L.A.,  and  here  I  quickly  found  a  quiet 
haven  for  study,  in  a  big,  warm,  well- 
aired  building,  filled  with  books  that  met 
every  desire  of  study  or  relaxation,  pre- 
sided over  by  intelligent  gentlemen  eager 
to  give  their  help  to  the  war  by  sharing 
with  the  boys  their  wider  intellectual 
points  of  view. 

Our  health  is  a  matter  of  no  less  con- 
cern, however,  than  our  mental  welfare, 
and  in  this  matter  the  Government  shares 
no  responsibility  with  outside  interests. 
Needless  to  say,  our  hospitals,  dispensa- 
ries, and  so  forth  are  of  the  highest  order 
of  efficiency;  but  a  description  of  these  is 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         63 

but  the  description  of  eflScient  hospitals 
anywhere.  It  is  the  incidentals  that  give 
the  pictures.  In  our  barracks  our  ham- 
mocks swing  side  by  side  in  double  rows 
down  the  dormitory.  To  check  the  spread 
of  colds  and  contagious  diseases,  the  hos- 
pital authorities  installed  movable  cot- 
ton curtains,  which  each  night  are  eas- 
ily adjusted  between  the  heads  of  the 
hammocks.  These  "sneeze  curtains,"  as 
they  were  immediately  dubbed,  very  soon 
had  an  appreciable  effect  on  the  sickness 
lists  of  the  regiments. 

Happy  is  the  sense  of  humor  of  the 
sailor.  Several  times  each  week  we  are  in- 
spected for  indications  of  measles  or  scar- 
let fever.  As  the  first  sign  is  a  rash  on  the 
stomach,  it  is  here  that  we  are  inspected. 
There  is  a  cry  by  whoever  first  sees  the 
visiting  surgeon,  of  ''Attention!"  then 
comes  the  word,  "Belly  inspection,"  and 


64  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

we  fall  into  line,  and  with  our  blouses  and 
shirts  pulled  up  above  our  breeches  march 
past  the  doctor.  It  was  a  Texan  who,  with 
a  fine  disregard  for  the  majesty  of  our 
gold-striped  surgeon,  secured  from  the 
clothing  depot  a  paper  stencil,  such  as 
we  use  to  mark  our  clothing,  and  with 
black  paint  lettered  his  bare  stomach 
with  "Good-morning,  doctor."  There  are 
times  when  even  an  officer  laughs. 

All  Texas  has  certainly  enlisted  in  the 
Navy,  and  as  our  average  age  is  below  the 
draft  age,  it  suggests  even  to  the  casual 
that  the  spirit  of  the  Alamo  goes  march- 
ing on.  Tall  and  lean,  they  come  from 
Texas  towns,  villages,  and  the  open 
plains.  All  speak  with  the  rich  accent  of 
the  South,  but  most  of  all  they  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  native  manners, 
which  seem  to  be  invariably  present.  Few 
of  them  have  ever  seen  a  boat,  but  all  of 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         65 

them  are  eager  to  leave  their  native  ele- 
ment and  become  sailors.  They  are  a 
splendid  class  of  men,  a  type  that  seems 
to  exemplify  the  ideal  American. 

Among  the  men  who  were  directly  un- 
der me  in  the  regiment  was  a  short  sandy 
fellow  who,  I  learned,  had  spent  a  number 
of  years  as  a  sailor  on  West  Coast  freight- 
ers. Twice  shipwrecked,  he  had  finally 
retired  from  seafaring  to  the  less  tempes- 
tuous occupation  of  a  gold-prospector  in 
Alaska.  On  a  periodic  trip  to  a  near-by 
town  he  had  learned  that  the  country  was 
at  war,  and  without  stopping  to  dispose 
of  his  claims,  —  which  held  greater  possi- 
bilities of  wealth  with  every  telling,  —  he 
hurried  to  the  States  and  enlisted  in  the 
Navy.  His  chief  desire  while  on  the  sta- 
tion was  to  climb  one  of  the  four-hundred- 
foot  radio  towers  and  perform  a  hand- 
spring on  the  top;  a  desire,  happily  for 


66  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

life  and  limb,  never  to  be  gratified.  As  it 
was,  his  leisure  time  was  completely  filled 
by  embroidery  and  the  weaving  of  mats 
and  fringes  from  rope-ends. 

In  the  same  barracks  slept  a  young  ex- 
minister  of  the  Gospel,  whose  slight  figure 
and  quiet  manner  contrasted  with  the 
rugged  physique  and  picturesque  speech 
of  the  gold-prospector.  They  were  both 
willing  workers,  and  a  friendship  sprang 
up  between  them,  for  each  found  in  the 
other  qualities  for  wonder  and  admi- 
ration. I  never  heard  the  history  of  the 
minister,  but  there  was  in  the  intensity  of 
his  patriotism  a  promise  for  his  future. 

Many  of  the  men  were  married,  and  on 
Wednesday  afternoons,  which  were  set 
apart  for  visitors,  wives  and  children  were 
much  in  evidence.  One  of  the  men,  a  dark 
boyish-looking  fellow,  with  fine  wide-set 
eyes  and  constantly  smiling  mouth,  had 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         67 

particularly  attracted  me  by  his  quiet 
willingness.  He  had  been  a  motor  expert 
in  one  of  the  big  automobile  factories  at 
Detroit,  and  threw  up  a  high-pay  job  to 
join  the  Navy.  One  Wednesday  afternoon 
he  proudly  introduced  me  to  his  wife  and 
three-year-old  daughter.  Later,  the  wife 
told  me  of  her  pride  in  her  husband's  en- 
listment and  her  satisfaction  in  having 
been  able  to  find  a  good  position  for  her- 
seM  in  order  to  keep  up  the  earning  capac- 
ity of  the  family  in  his  absence. 

I  was  listening  one  morning  to  a  fellow 
company  commander  drilling  his  com- 
pany in  the  street  before  their  barracks. 
The  men  were  listless,  and  there  was  ab- 
sent from  the  drill  the  smart  precision  that 
instantly  identifies  the  drill-work  of  a  sailor. 
Without  long  patience  he  finally  halted 
his  men,  and  in  a  few  short  sentences  de- 
manded their  attention.   One  sentence  in 


68  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

particular  I  shall  never  forget,  for  it  is  a 
crystallization  of  the  spirit  of  the  Station. 

"Don't  just  do  your  bit,"  he  said; 
*'the  men  on  this  station  do  their  best." 

There  is  another  phrase  that  is  in  a 
sense  our  motto.  It  is,  "For  the  good  of 
the  ship."  Landlubbers  though  we  are, 
we  are  taught  by  our  captain  to  consider 
our  camp  as  a  ship  in  which  we  must  take 
a  true  sailor's  pride,  whose  reputation  is 
entrusted  to  us,  a  sacred  thing.  All  our 
speech  must  be  nautical,  our  life  is  nauti- 
cal, and  although  we  live  on  land,  our 
floor  is  our  deck;  when  on  the  station,  we 
are  on  board  ship;  and  to  step  outside  the 
gate  is  to  "go  ashore."  For  the  good  of  the 
ship  we  are  taught  that  the  Navy  in  gen- 
eral, and  our  station  in  particular,  are 
judged  by  our  behavior  and  appearance. 
To  go  on  liberty  requires  personal  cleanli- 
ness; to  remain  on  liberty  demands  ex- 


STUDENTS  OF  THE  SEA         69 

emplary  behavior.  It  is  a  single  but  an 
inclusive  creed,  that  guides  the  accumula- 
tive spirit  of  youth. 

A  few  weeks  ago  we  passed  in  review 
before  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy.  With 
our  regimental  colors  standing  out  in  a 
strong  cold  breeze  from  the  Lake,  we 
formed  in  the  one  wide  street  and  swung 
into  line  behind  our  band.  I  was  marching 
near  the  head  of  the  column,  and  as  we 
turned  a  bend  in  the  road  I  looked  back 
at  the  regiment,  extended  at  right  angles 
to  the  foremost  company.  Fifteen  hundred 
strong,  four  abreast,  we  filled  a  long  half- 
mile  of  road.  The  sky  was  blue,  and  the  sun 
heightened  the  brilliance  of  white  caps 
and  leggins  and  caught  here  and  there  a 
flash  from  gray  gun-barrels.  In  the  middle 
of  the  column,  the  red  bars  of  the  flag 
made  a  dash  of  color,  and  beside  it  the 
blue  regimental  flag,  with  its  yellow  de- 


70         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

vice  of  the  Aviation,  flapped  in  the  breeze. 
From  every  regimental  street  similar  col- 
umns were  emerging.  Bands  were  every- 
where playing,  the  music  in  wind-torn 
fragments  sounding  now  and  again  loud 
in  our  ears. 

Before  the  Administration  Buildings 
we  finally  formed,  and  for  an  hour  we 
marched  past  the  reviewing  stand.  Men 
from  every  state  in  the  Union,  brought 
together  by  a  common  call,  we  went  past. 
The  great  band,  massed  together,  thun- 
dered its  music.  From  roofs,  flagstaffs, 
and  towers  multi-colored  signal  flags 
dipped  and  waved.  High  against  the  blue 
above  us  was  the  flag  of  our  country. 
Here  was  America,  with  its  answer  to  the 
world.  Here  were  the  inheritors  of  Perry, 
Decatur,  Hull,  Farragut,  and  Dewey. 
Here  were  men  from  whose  number 
would  come  new  heroes. 


Ill 

THE  TRANSPORT 

From  Alaska  and  the  Western  islands, 
from  the  Pacific  slopes,  from  the  great 
Northwest  and  Southwest,  from  the  Mis- 
sissippi Valley,  the  Gulf  States,  and  the 
Eastern  States,  they  have  congregated; 
drawn  together,  forming  and  reforming 
into  ever-increasing  armies,  miners  and 
bank  clerks,  college  professors  and  farm- 
ers' sons,  these  vast  legions  have  been 
gathered,  silently  and  almost  unobserved, 
into  a  handful  of  seaport  towns;  and  from 
these  ports  of  embarkation  America's 
Army  of  Liberty,  without  interruption, 
passes  across  three  thousand  miles  of  sea 
to  foreign  lands.  Beyond  conception  is  the 
number  that  has  been  transported;  nor 
has  the  tide  yet  reached  its  height.  In  the 


n  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

wonder  of  their  gathering  and  in  the  glory 
of  their  deeds  beyond  the  seas,  perhaps 
have  been  unnoticed  some  aspects  of  their 
transit.  Impatient  hours  are  their  hours  of 
travel  across  the  sea.  But  to  those  whose 
duty  it  is  to  insure  their  safe  and  speedy 
passage,  they  are  long  hours  of  anxious 
expectancy.  The  description  of  a  single 
passage  across  the  Atlantic  will  tell  the 
tale.  Be  there  a  thousand  or  ten  thousand 
within  the  narrow  hull,  the  general  as- 
pects are  the  same. 

The  city's  streets  reflected  the  wither- 
ing heat  of  early  August,  and  that  heat, 
on  a  certain  August  morning,  was  the 
city's  chief  concern.  As  I  passed  down 
through  the  canon  walls  of  buildings,  I 
felt  a  certain  resentment  that  these  mil- 
lions of  people  were  taking  up  their  daily 
labors  apparently  unmoved  by  the  vast 


THE  TRANSPORT  7S 

emigration  that  passed  almost  unnoticed 
before  them.  I  was  proud  to  be  a  partici- 
pant in  this  mighty  movement,  and  yet  I 
was  envious  of  these  busy  people,  envious 
of  the  uninterrupted  even  tenor  of  their 
lives. 

There  was  a  slight  coolness  on  the 
river,  but  beyond  the  portal  of  the  ferry 
came  again  the  heat  of  pavements  and  the 
dry  hot  smells  of  city  streets.  Long  rows 
of  buildings  stretched  north  along  the 
river,  and  above  the  roofs  here  and  there 
towered  high  sparless  masts  and  huge 
funnels  painted  in  strange  bands  of  color, 
emitting  thin  wisps  of  smoke  or  steam 
which  rose  almost  perpendicularly  into 
the  air.  Along  the  rough  pavement  passed 
an  interminable  procession  of  rumbling 
trucks  piled  high  with  great  boxes  sten- 
ciled with  addresses  over-seas.  Soldiers 
and  sailors  moved  along  the  sidewalk. 


74  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

There  was  a  restless  but  ordered  sense  of 
activity. 

Beyond  the  guarded  gates  to  one  of  the 
nearest  piers  the  steel  shed-like  building, 
which  enclosed  the  dock-ends  and  ex- 
tended its  two-story  projections  out  along 
each  pier,  opened  wide  black  doorways. 
Through  them  electric  trucks  passed  in 
and  out  from  the  yards  crowded  with 
freight  to  the  dark  interior. 

Inside  the  building  was  the  same  or- 
derly confusion.  Up  to  the  high  ceiling 
against  every  wall  was  piled  an  infinite 
variety  of  boxed,  baled,  and  crated  ma- 
terial: wagons,  gun-carriages,  aeroplanes 
and  caissons,  provisions  of  every  descrip- 
tion, medical  and  commissary  supplies, 
lumber,  canvas,  rope  arid  wire,  barrels, 
casks,  and  metal  cylinders  of  fluid.  Be- 
tween the  barricades  of  freight,  and  al- 
most indistinct  in  the  gloom  to  sun-dazed 


THE  TRANSPORT  75 

eyes,  a  long  line  of  soldiers  stretched  far 
down  the  building,  and  beyond  a  distant 
corner  out  on  the  enclosed  pier  to  the 
gangways  to  the  ship.  They  were  hot, 
dirty,  and  tired  with  long  hours  of  railway 
travel,  and  they  moved  forward  in  slow 
advances  of  ten  or  a  dozen  feet,  resting 
their  packs,  meanwhile,  on  the  concrete 
floor  and  leaning  on  the  polished  blue 
barrels  of  their  rifles.  Bronzed  with  their 
months  of  training,  their  dark  faces  of- 
fered little  contrast  to  the  rakish  service 
caps  of  khaki  or  the  drab  of  service  uni- 
forms. They  were  tired,  but  their  disci- 
pline was  unbroken,  and  there  was  a  no- 
ticeable gayety  in  the  ranks  and  the  spirit 
of  a  holiday  already  at  hand. 

Here  a  regiment  of  pioneers,  weather- 
beaten  faces  making  dark  contrast  to 
straight  blue  eyes  and  sun-faded  hair. 
Matching  them  in  appearance  was  a  regi- 


76  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ment  of  city-bred,  whose  recently  broad- 
ened shoulders  swung  easily  beneath  the 
heavy  packs.  Glistening  with  rivulets  of 
sweat,  the  black  faces  of  the  negro  com- 
panies responded  to  every  diversion  with 
instant  smiles  and  laughter.  Among  the 
men  passed  and  repassed  oflScers  in  smart 
inconspicuous  uniforms.  They  were  young, 
for  the  most  part,  but  here  and  there 
were  older  faces. 

The  doors  of  the  pier  shone  with  sun- 
light that  filtered  down  between  the  pier- 
shed  and  the  high  side  of  the  waiting 
transport.  At  each  door  the  narrow  gang- 
way ascended  sharply  to  the  ship's  side. 
At  two  gangways  the  troops  were  em- 
barking; at  the  others  stevedores  were 
loading  supplies  and  freight. 

There  was  no  view  of  the  vessel,  only 
glimpses  of  plates  of  rivet-studded  steel 
through  square  sunlit  openings  —  steel  at 


THE  TRANSPORT  77 

this  door  painted  a  sky-blue,  and  at  the 
next  door  and  the  door  beyond  in  slanting 
stripes  of  black  and  white  camouflage. 
There  was  a  smell  of  salt  water  in  the  air 
and  a  reminiscent  tang  of  other  seafaring 
days  in  a  huge  coil  of  tarred  hawser. 

Beyond  the  steep  ascent  of  the  gang- 
way there  was  light  and  a  sudden  sense  of 
heat.  Like  a  mighty  building  the  sides  of 
the  transport  lifted  high  against  the  roof 
of  the  dock-shed  and  extended  from  the 
head  of  the  basin  to  the  river  at  the  far 
end.  Abaft  the  forward  cargo-deck,  the 
superstructure  rose  deck  on  deck  to  the 
culminating  sweep  of  the  bridge,  full  sixty 
feet  above  the  greasy  water  of  the  slip; 
and  above  the  cargo-deck  the  foremast 
and  the  mainmast  rose  high  against  the 
blue  sky,  dwarfing  the  stocky  kingheads 
which  directed  the  long  cargo  booms. 
Across  the  face  of  the  ship  the  blue,  white. 


78  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

black,  and  gray  camouflage  shattered  the 
otherwise  orderly  outline,  giving  to  the 
vessel  the  fantastic  appearance  of  some 
gayly  painted  plaything  of  a  giant. 

In  the  shadows  of  the  decks,  white-clad 
ofiicers  directed  the  chaos  of  the  embarka- 
tion; and  up  the  gangways  and  down  the 
black  hatches  in  the  deck  two  inter- 
minable files  of  soldiers  issued  like  brown 
ropes  from  the  doorways  of  the  pier  and 
smoothly  slid  across  the  narrow  strip  of 
water,  to  be  coiled  away  somewhere  in 
the  caverns  below  the  decks. 

A  dozen  women  in  cool  blue  Red 
Cross  uniforms  mingled  with  the  crowd. 
Y.M.C.A.  workers  busily  oflFered  their 
final  services.  Trunks  and  boxes,  officers' 
baggage,  came  over  the  side  and  were 
snatched  off  by  perspiring  men  and  hur- 
ried below.  Everywhere  were  ceaseless 
activity,  heat,  the  confused  sounds  of 


THE  TRANSPORT  79 

many  voices,  and  the  smells  of  the  ship, 
the  water,  and  sweating  bodies. 

The  embarkation  was  completed,  and 
the  long  tan  lines  that  for  seeming  hours 
had  mounted  steadily  the  slender  gang- 
ways had  tehninated  in  the  steel  decks 
below.  We  lunched  in  the  once  richly  deco- 
rated saloon  where  men  and  women  had 
gayly  gathered  in  long  voyages  to  the  dis- 
tant Orient.  But  to-day  the  central  table 
was  lined  with  naval  officers,  and  on  either 
side,  at  other  tables,  sat  the  several  hun- 
dred army  officers  who  were  accompany- 
ing us.  In  the  soldiers'  quarters  galley- 
fires  had  been  long  lighted  and  dinner  was 
being  rapidly  served  to  the  men.  With  cup 
and  tin  plate  in  hand,  they  passed  in  line 
before  the  serving-tables,  then  scattered 
about  the  decks  and  voraciously  devoured 
their  first  meal  on  shipboard. 

All  afternoon  the  loading  of  baggage 


80  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

and  supplies  was  continued.  Everywhere 
about  the  decks  the  soldiers  wandered, 
examining  their  new  surroundings  or 
clustering  about  boxes  and  hatch-covers 
to  write  last  letters  before  departure. 
Night  came.  Far  across  the  river  a  myriad 
lights  gleamed  like  faint  stars  against  the 
soft  sky.  From  the  darkening  river  rose 
the  voices  of  passing  vessels,  ferries  call- 
ing out  to  each  other  in  the  growing  dusk, 
deep  resonant  whistles  of  ocean  vessels 
and  the  raucous  cries  of  tugboats.  Below 
decks  on  the  transport  a  piano  dominated 
all  local  sounds  with  the  staccato  metallic 
notes  of  the  latest  music-hall  melodies. 
About  the  piano  a  hundred  soldiers  gath- 
ered in  a  hollow  circle,  in  which  two  negro 
soldiers,  streaming  with  sweat,  clogged 
violently,  with  white  flashes  of  smiles  and 
clapping  hands.  From  the  roofs  of  the 
dock-sheds  bright  flood-lights  illuminated 


THE  TRANSPORT  81 

the  transport  with  an  unreal  dayhght,  and 
far  above  their  glare,  in  the  still  hot  roof 
of  the  sky,  faint  stars  shone  with  a  pale 
white  luster. 

It  was  midnight.  Driven  by  the  intense 
heat  from  below  decks,  the  sleeping  sol- 
diers incrusted  every  level  surface  of  the 
ship.  On  every  square  foot  of  deck,  on  life- 
boats, on  life-rafts  and  piles  of  still  un- 
stowed  baggage,  on  booms,  hatch-covers, 
and  gratings,  they  flung  their  bodies  in 
sleep.  Upturned  to  the  glaring  lights  and 
the  stars  beyond,  white  faces  lay  as  on 
some  strange  field  of  battle.  Here  and 
there  half -naked  bodies  turned  or  twisted 
heavily.  Broad  chests  rose  and  fell  in  even 
breathing;  bare  feet  extended  stark  and 
white  against  the  deck.  A  man  with  a 
dark  mustache  across  his  lip  cried  out 
a  sharp  incoherent  sentence  of  foreign 
words.  Beside  him  a  tall  young  man  with 


82  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

clean-cut,  boyish  features  tossed  rest- 
lessly. As  he  shifted  his  weary  body,  his 
arm  fell  across  the  sleeping  man  beside 
him.  I  watched  the  arm  unconsciously 
and  almost  tenderly  tighten  about  the 
stolid  figure,  and  then,  as  the  touch 
brought  back  some  far  memory  to  his 
dreams,  I  saw  his  body  relax,  the  fitful 
tossing  ceased,  and  he  sank  into  tired 
sleep. 

It  is  late  afternoon  of  the  second  day. 
For  almost  twenty-four  hours  we  have 
been  ready,  awaiting  the  word  which 
would  send  us  on  our  way.  During  these 
long  hours  the  soldiers  swarmed  restlessly 
about  the  ship.  At  frequent  intervals  the 
army  band  blared  noisily  popular  patri- 
otic airs,  and  the  men  roared  out  the  ring- 
ing choruses  in  appreciation.  But  now 
there  are  certain  signs  which  to  an  ob- 
serving eye  indicate  nearing  departure. 


THE  TRANSPORT  83 

The  pilot,  a  young  man  with  a  jaunty 
black-and-white  checked  cap,  is  on  the 
bridge  chatting  with  the  captain.  Quietly, 
all  but  two  of  the  hawsers  have  been 
cast  off,  and  all  but  one  gangway  have 
been  lowered  away  from  the  side.  A  vi- 
bration trembling  deep  within  the  great 
ship  indicates  that  our  engines  are  turn- 
ing over.  That  test  alone  is  indicative. 
The  wail  of  our  siren  rises  loud  above  the 
roofs,  and  now  every  man  realizes  that 
the  long  journey  is  at  hand.  There  is  a 
noticeable  quiet. 

Four  tugs,  with  much  churning  of  green 
water,  puff  noisily  into  the  slip  and  fasten 
like  leeches  against  our  bow  and  stern. 
Soldiers  crowd  the  rails.  Every  one  is  on 
deck.  From  the  upper  deck,  directly  be- 
low the  bridge,  where  I  am  standing  with 
several  of  the  ship's  officers,  I  watch  with 
dull  emotion  these  last  material  sever- 


84  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ings  from  a  land  that  holds  all  that  is  life 
to  me. 

Bells  jangle  deep  in  the  engine-room. 
The  tugs  surge  against  the  ship.  Suddenly 
I  become  conscious  that  we  are  moving. 
With  my  eye  I  line  up  a  deck-stanchion 
with  a  mark  on  the  dock-shed.  The  cheer- 
ing becomes  general,  a  wild  triumphant 
tumult  of  sound,  a  roaring  of  these  thou- 
sands of  American  voices. 

The  dock-sheds  are  deserted.  No  an- 
swering cheers  meet  our  ears.  From  a 
doorway  appears  a  single  Irish  stevedore, 
who  waves  his  arms  to  us.  All  the  cheering 
instantly  focuses  on  him;  he  becomes  to 
us  America,  and  the  roar  of  triumphant 
farewell  swells  up  from  the  packed  decks. 

Slowly  we  slide  past  the  dock  and  out 
into  the  stream.  On  the  forward  deck  the 
army  band  smashes  into  the  chorus  of 
"Over  There."  Instantly  the  voices  re- 


THE  TRANSPORT  85 

spond.  It  is  tremendous,  and  there  is  a 
lump  in  my  throat  and  tears  of  emotion 
stand  in  my  eyes. 

A  cool  breeze  sweeps  up  the  river. 
Piled  high  in  lofty  towers  and  pinnacles, 
the  great  city  rises  from  the  blue  water, 
a  gleaming  silhouette  against  the  sky. 
About  its  feet  innumerable  wharves,  like 
extended  fingers  of  a  giant  hand,  clutch 
the  water.  A  ferry-boat  crowded  with  re- 
turning workers  slides  past  us;  there  is  a 
flutter  of  handkerchiefs  from  its  decks. 
The  band  strikes  up  the  "Star-Spangled 
Banner."  Slowly  we  glide  down  the  river, 
our  decks  massed  with  khaki-clad  sol- 
diers. The  band  plays  continuously  and 
the  men  join  in  every  chorus,  volleys  of 
cheers  drowning  the  music  as  ferries  and 
pleasure  vessels  pass  us.  The  long  pile  of 
gleaming  buildings  mounting  to  a  single 
crag  of  white  drops  behind  and  we  glide 


86  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

slowly  past  the  green  park  at  the  island's 
point.  Against  the  clear  sky  the  gray  cob* 
webs  of  the  bridges  stand  out  in  delicate 
tracery.  Ferries  and  excursion  boats  pass 
close  to  us,  and  upturned  women's  faces 
send  us  a  last  farewell. 

From  the  after  gun-deck  I  watch  the 
towers  darken  in  the  soft  evening  light 
and  sink  slowly  into  the  horizon.  In  the 
widening  bay  a  great  argosy  rides  at  an- 
chor. There  are  graceful  sailing  ships  of 
other  days,  rejuvenated  to  begin  a  new 
life  of  usefulness.  There  are  steel  cargo- 
carriers,  stolid  honest  burghers  of  the  sea, 
strangely  bedizened  in  their  mad  dress  of 
camouflage;  and  between  them  dart  the 
smart  gray  patrol  boats. 

Gray  green,  the  massive  figure  of  Lib- 
erty seems  to  pass  us.  Behind  her  the  dis- 
tant shore  lies  low  on  the  horizon.  The 
Sim  dips  behind  it  and  is  gone.  With  arm 


THE  TRANSPORT  87 

uplifted  the  symbolic  goddess  seems  to 
tender  us  a  silent  benediction. 

We  pass  the  Narrows  and  steam  slowly- 
through  the  passage  in  the  great  steel  net 
that  guards  the  harbor.  On  either  hand, 
behind  the  soft  green  hills,  must  lie  the 
guns  that  guard  the  sea-gate  to  the  city. 
At  last,  the  open  sea ! 

The  channel  buoys  drop  behind  us  and 
suddenly  I  am  conscious  that  the  land  has 
sunk  below  the  horizon.  Night  begins  to 
close  down  rapidly  on  the  darkening  sea. 
There  is  a  steady  whirring  far  above,  and 
out  of  the  sky  appears  a  sea-plane  that  has 
come  to  escort  us.  Ahead,  another  strange 
shape  looms  in  the  sky,  a  silvery  cigar  al- 
most invisible  against  the  gray.  A  minute 
later  it  passes  over  us  and  our  decks  are 
white  upturned  faces.  From  the  left  a  long 
rakish  craft  climbs  over  the  horizon,  its 
graceful  sides  and  low  funnels  patterned 


88  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

with  converging  stripes  of  white  and  black. 
Behind  the  destroyer  is  the  gray  bulk  of 
a  tall-stacked  cruiser.  A  mile  farther  a 
submarine  awash  falls  in  on  our  right. 
Sky  and  sea  merge  slowly  into  night,  and 
in  the  deepening  dusk  the  escorting  ships 
become  phantom  shapes  that  the  eye  must 
strain  to  see.  Our  long  voyage  is  begun. 

Morning  came  with  dazzling  sunshine 
and  a  calm  blue  sea.  On  right  and  left  the 
cruiser  and  destroyer  flanked  our  course. 
The  submarine,  sea-plane,  and  dirigible 
had  disappeared.  At  noon  I  began  my 
new  duties  as  Junior  Watch-OflScer,  and 
took  my  first  of  many  four-hour  watches 
on  the  port  wing  of  the  bridge. 

The  transport  bore  an  enviable  history. 
She  was  well  armed,  and  her  officers  dis- 
played unconsciously  in  their  bearing  the 
training  which  characterizes  the  Ameri- 


THE  TRANSPORT  89 

can  naval  officer  and  places  him  in  the 
enviable  position  which  he  holds  to-day. 
The  captain,  a  graduate  of  the  Naval 
Academy,  who  had  since  continuously 
followed  his  profession  in  the  regular 
navy  in  practically  every  quarter  of  the 
globe,  possessed  in  a  high  degree  those 
qualifications  of  professional  ability  and 
courtly  personality  which  almost  invari- 
ably stamp  our  naval  officers.  Among  the 
other  officers  were  many  who  had  joined 
the  Reserve  Force  on  the  outbreak  of  the 
war,  men  whose  long  experience  on  mer- 
chant vessels  qualified  them  highly  to 
perform  their  present  invaluable  service. 
Early  in  the  afternoon  faint  smears  of 
light  smoke  edged  the  horizon,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  the  funnels  of  the  convoy 
poked  up  above  it.  An  hour  later  we 
were  in  the  midst.  Gathered  from  un- 
named ports,  these  unnamed  vessels  met 


90         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

on  a  definite  square  mile  or  so  of  ocean 
known  only  to  their  commanders.  Fan- 
tastically marked  with  camouflage  of  va- 
rious colors,  with  our  escorting  cruisers 
and  destroyers  circling  about  us,  we  made 
our  picturesque  formation  and  began  our 
united  progress. 

It  may  be  pertinent  at  this  point  to  ex- 
plain that  the  true  purpose  of  camouflage 
is  not,  as  is  popularly  supposed,  to  render 
the  ship  invisible,  but  rather,  by  various 
arrangements  of  converging  bands  of  col- 
ors, does  it  seek  to  conceal  the  relative 
direction  or  "bearing"  of  the  ship  from 
enemy  vessels  which  may  sight  it.  So  suc- 
cessful is  this  effect,  that  I  have  several 
times  found  it  necessary  to  study  care- 
fully a  vessel,  to  determine  its  actual  di- 
rection; and  of  the  vessels  in  our  convoy 
one  repeatedly  gave  us  trouble,  due  to  the 
fact  that  she  constantly  seemed  to  be  fall- 


THE  TRANSPORT  91 

ing   oflF   an   undeterminable   number   of 
points  from  her  actual  course. 

For  four  days  the  heat  of  a  cloudless 
midsummer  sky  beat  down  upon  the  ship. 
With  the  breeze  behind  us,  the  movement 
of  air  was  neutralized  and  we  seemed  to 
pass  steadily  through  an  intense  calm.  At 
night  many  of  the  soldiers  slept  on  deck, 
and  the  long  promenades  were  almost 
impassable  with  sleeping  bodies.  Below 
decks,  by  day,  the  soldiers  were  rapidly 
accustoming  themselves  to  their  new 
quarters.  Meals  were  served  with  clock- 
like regularity  to  appease  appetites  sharp- 
ened by  sea  air.  Daily  the  band  played  a 
concert  on  the  deck,  and  the  other  ships 
of  the  convoy  were  a  never-failing  source 
of  interest.  All  the  day  the  men  basked  in 
the  simshine.  It  was  to  the  majority  of 
them  a  long-desired  rest  after  their  weeks 
of  arduous  training. 


92'        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

On  the  fifth  day  a  hazy  sky  and  rapidly 
moving  gray  clouds  on  the  horizon  gave 
promise  of  a  change.  By  sunset  the  sky 
was  dark  with  black  clouds,  and  as  day 
departed,  an  indescribable  blackness  set- 
tled over  the  ocean.  Nowhere  was  sky  or 
sea  clearly  discernible,  except  along  the 
northern  horizon,  where  a  pale  band  of 
lemon  light  separated  the  pall  above  from 
the  lead-gray  of  the  water  and  seemed  to 
let  in  across  the  sea  a  heavy  ray  of  light, 
such  as  might  shine  beneath  the  lowered 
curtain  of  a  window  in  a  darkened  room. 
Against  this  clear  bar  of  light  the  ships  of 
the  convoy  on  our  port  beam,  in  black 
silhouette,  perched  on  the  top  of  the  hori- 
zon from  which  the  ocean,  like  a  blank 
wall,  seemed  vertically  to  descend.  Now 
and  then  came  the  rumble  of  thunder 
from  the  south,  where  against  the  com- 
plete darkness  of  the  sky  the  lightning 


THE  TRANSPORT  93 

fell   from   low-lying   clouds    in    straight 
smooth  liquid  plunges  to  the  sea. 

At  eight  I  took  my  watch  on  the  port 
wing  of  the  bridge.  From  my  high  pros- 
pect the  bow  of  the  ship  was  but  indis- 
tinctly visible;  aft,  all  was  engulfed  in 
darkness.  The  sea  was  smooth,  but  the 
impending  storm  was  appalling.  On  clear 
nights  it  is  none  too  easy  to  keep  for- 
mation in  a  convoy,  for,  as  a  necessary 
protection  against  submarine  attack,  all 
lights  are  extinguished  or  totally  obscured 
from  sunset  until  dawn;  but  on  such  a 
night  the  danger  of  collision  was  immeas- 
urably increased.  In  half  an  hour  the 
lightning  became  incessant,  and  showed 
on  every  quarter  of  the  horizon.  Not  the 
traditional  jagged  flashes,  but  smooth, 
falling  columns  of  fire  that  seemed  to  pour 
from  the  clouds  as  molten  steel  is  poured 
from  the  tapped  hearth.  Suddenly,  the 


94  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

rain  began  —  rain  so  dense  that  it  ob- 
scured wholly  whatever  the  darkness  had 
left  visible.  Blotted  out  instantly  were 
our  companion  ships,  the  incessant  light- 
ning showing  only  a  falling  curtain  of  sil- 
ver threads,  behind  which  my  compan- 
ions on  the  bridge  seemed  to  move  as 
vivid  black  and  white  figures  projected  on 
the  screen  by  a  cinematograph. 

One  hour  later  there  was  a  brief  respite, 
and  in  the  abrupt  relief,  at  each  lightning 
flash,  I  could  dimly  see  the  black  forms  of 
our  sister  ships  plunging  evenly  on  the 
long  swells.  Our  formation  was  still  main- 
tained and  all  was  well.  I  was  soaked 
through  to  the  skin,  but  the  air  was  warm, 
and  the  heavy  coolness  of  saturated  cloth- 
ing compensated  for  the  fatiguing  heat  of 
previous  days. 

At  intervals  the  rain  fell  with  even 
greater  violence;  and  at  midnight,  when 


THE  TRANSPORT  95 

my  watch  was  at  an  end,  I  left  the  bridge 
and  groped  my  way  below  to  my  cabin 
with  infinite  relief. 

Simday  dawned  bright  and  cool,  a 
heavy  brilliant  blue  sea  rolling  in  deep 
valleys  and  high  mountains  of  sparkling 
water,  the  highest  peaks  slashed  into  fly- 
ing spray  by  the  knifeblade  of  a  strong 
northeast  wind.  Against  the  blue  sky  cot- 
tony clouds  tore  like  clippers  before  the 
wind;  and  over  the  moving  surface  of  the 
sea  the  ships  of  the  convoy,  like  gayly 
garbed  ladies  of  the  chorus,  in  their  fan- 
tastic camouflage,  pitched  and  rolled, 
taking  now  and  then  a  flood  of  green  wa- 
ter over  the  bow,  which  poured  aft  and 
spouted  in  cascades  from  the  decks,  then 
settling  deep  by  the  stern,  with  a  clear 
sight  under  the  forefoot.  By  night  the  sea 
had  somewhat  moderated  —  a  deep  ul- 
tramarine  sea   flecked   with   foam,  and 


96         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

above  it  a  pale  sky  of  delicious  blue, 
across  which  heavy  pink  clouds  sailed 
slowly. 

The  soldiers  stood  the  ordeal  well,  but 
the  motion  of  the  ship  did  not  pass  un- 
noticed and  there  were  not  a  few  cases  of 
violent  seasickness.  For  the  ship's  ofEcers 
and  crew  the  storm  was  a  mere  detail  in  a 
routine  in  which  storms  and  submarine 
warnings  had  become  almost  monoto- 
nous. There  was  a  kind  of  fine  fatalism  in 
their  attitude.  To  be  sure,  the  submarine 
danger  was  at  that  time  particularly 
acute,  and  one  ofiicer  had  left  two  ships 
torpedoed  beneath  him;  but  the  realiza- 
tion that  no  precaution  or  safeguard  was 
being  neglected,  and  that,  despite  occa- 
sional sinkings  scored  by  submarines,  the 
Germans  were  playing  a  losing  hand, 
kept  confidence  up  to  a  high  degree. 

Too  much  cannot  be  said  to  the  credit 


THE  TRANSPORT  97 

of  the  reserve  officers  of  the  transport 
service  for  the  efficient  service  they  per- 
form. Many  have  voluntarily  left  posi- 
tions of  command  on  smaller  merchant- 
men or  passenger  ships,  to  accept  gladly 
the  more  arduous  war-service  in  subordi- 
nate positions  and  at  a  material  reduction 
in  compensation.  Back  and  forth,  from 
continent  to  continent,  they  are  trans- 
porting our  army,  running  their  zigzag 
courses  in  darkened  convoys,  ever  ready 
to  show  their  heels  to  the  lurking  foe, 
or,  if  necessary,  to  meet  him  face  to  face 
with  steel  from  well-manned  guns  and  the 
rocking  blasts  of  depth-charges  cast  in 
the  sea.  Their  hours  are  long;  their  recrea- 
tion negligible;  I  never  have  heard  a  word 
of  complaint  from  their  lips. 

Just  aft  of  the  mainmast,  on  the  for- 
ward freight-deck,  the  superstructure  of 
the  ship  rises  abruptly  a  full  three  decks 


98  A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

to  the  bridge,  where  I  stood  my  watches. 
From  side  to  side,  across  the  beam  of  the 
ship,  the  bridge  extends,  a  long  broad 
promenade  inclosed  in  the  center  about 
the  wheel  and  binnacle,  and  housed  over 
on  each  end  to  protect  the  watch-officers 
from  the  weather.  Beside  the  binnacle, 
which  holds  the  compass,  are  the  tele- 
graphs or  engine-room  signals,  by  which 
the  speed  of  the  ship  is  regulated;  and 
here,  in  fact,  are  the  eyes  and  the  brain- 
center  of  the  vessel.  From  the  starboard 
bridge  the  senior  watch-officer  gives  his 
orders  to  the  quartermaster  at  the  wheel, 
and  maintains  a  strict  lookout  for  what- 
ever of  importance  may  appear  on  the 
surrounding  sea.  On  the  port  side  the 
junior  watch-officer  also  scours  the  sea 
and  at  regular  intervals  inspects  the  ship, 
and  performs  such  other  duties  as  the 
senior  watch-officer  may  put  upon  him. 


THE  TRANSPORT  99 

Behind  the  bridge  is  the  chart-house, 
where  the  navigating  officer  keeps  his 
charts,  astronomical  instruments,  and 
chronometers.  And  above  is  the  signal- 
bridge,  where  the  signalmen  flicker  their 
red  and  yellow  flags  in  hurried  words  and 
sentences  to  other  ships,  or  hoist  aloft 
the  gay,  multicolored  alphabet  flags  of 
the  International  Code  by  which  coded 
messages  are  transmitted.  Here  too  is  the 
blinker  by  which  in  peaceful  waters  night- 
messages  are  flashed  in  dots  and  dashes  of 
light;  and,  above  all,  the  fingers  of  the 
wireless  hold  the  vessel  in  close  communi- 
cation with  the  shore  and  with  a  wide 
radius  of  vessel-dotted  sea. 

The  starboard  wing  of  the  bridge  is  held 
by  the  senior  oflBcer  of  the  watch,  and  it  is 
here  that  the  captain  and  the  other  offi- 
cers of  the  ship  may  be  frequently  seen. 
My  station  was  on  the  port  wing  where, 


100        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

by  day  or  night,  at  dawn  or  sunset,  I 
watched  the  unending  beauty  of  sky  and 
sea  and  the  long  Hne  of  our  flanking  con- 
voy. 

*' Smoke  on  the  horizon!"  With  his 
glass  the  captain  studied  the  thin  wisp 
that  faintly  smeared  the  pale  blue.  In- 
credibly soon  the  stacks  showed  above 
the  horizon.  The  navigating  ofiicer  joined 
me.  "'She's  a  big  one,"  he  commented. 
Two  other  ships  on  either  side  of  the  first 
became  visible.  Rapidly  their  hulls  came 
up,  the  course  west  and  passing  a  few 
miles  to  the  south  of  us. 

Like  huge  race-horses,  they  came  stead- 
ily on,  spun  smoke  trailing  behind  them. 
The  huge  liner  towered  above  her  com- 
panions, but  all  were  maintaining  an 
equally  high  speed. 

"She  can  carry  ten  thousand  men. 
Think  of  it!"  said  the  navigator. 


THE  TRANSPORT  101 

For  a  moment  I  too  was  staggered  at 
the  thought;  and  then,  as  my  eyes  swept 
the  vast  heaving  expanse  of  sea,  the  great 
vessel  became  a  toy  that  floated  there, 
a  chip  with  its  puny  load.  Despite  the 
greatest  feats  of  human  ingenuity  the  sea 
remains  incomparable,  vast,  unconquer- 
able. 

"  Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  —  his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore." 

Already  the  great  ship  was  a  speck  sink- 
ing below  the  horizon. 

By  night  I  saw  Polaris  high  on  the  left 
dimmed  by  the  multitude  of  surrounding 
stars.  Ahead,  rising  from  the  sea,  in  the 
brief  hours  before  the  dawn,  came  Venus 
and  Jupiter,  like  liquid  drops  of  silver 
flame.  Behind  the  swinging  masts  Orion 
extended  his  mighty  length,  and  above 
him,  far  above  the  masts,  the  glittering 
Pleiades  shone  like  some  rare  jeweled  de- 


102        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

sign  of  Da  Vinci  pinned  to  the  silken  fab- 
ric of  the  night. 

In  the  strange  soUtude  of  these  long 
night  hours,  and  in  a  silence  broken  only 
by  the  sound  of  the  sea  swirling  and  foam- 
ing past  our  sides,  with  its  brilliant  wake 
of  phosphorescent  light,  or  by  the  sudden 
shrill  of  the  boatswain's  pipe  and  the 
heavy  footfalls  of  the  changing  watch, 
my  thoughts  would  wander  to  the  peace 
and  simple  happiness  of  all  that  we  were 
leaving  behind  us;  of  the  unknown  future 
that  was  awaiting  us;  of  the  hopes  and 
fears  of  those  thousands  who  slept  almost 
within  hand-touch  within  the  thin  steel 
walls;  and  then,  with  my  eyes  aching  to 
pierce  the  night,  to  discern  the  black 
form  of  our  convoy  or  to  catch  the  white 
rushing  path  of  a  torpedo  that  might  sud- 
denly challenge  our  way,  my  thoughts 
would  center  on  the  work  at  hand  and  on 


THE  TRANSPORT  103 

the  submarine  that  might  even  now  be 
trying  to  pierce  the  same  surrounding 
night  with  its  single  eye.  Then  each  break- 
ing crest  became  a  thing  of  suspicion,  and 
I  was  fascinated  and  buoyant  under  the 
still  suspense. 

At  two-hour  intervals  I  inspected  the 
great  vessel  from  stem  to  stern.  Here  in 
the  slow  lifting  and  sinking  of  the  bow 
there  was  a  noise  of  parted  waters.  Every- 
where watchers  scanned  the  sea,  silent 
sentries  paced,  prostrate  sleepers  encum- 
bered the  decks.  There  was  eternal  vigi- 
lance  and  complete  oblivion.  Far  down 
in  the  engine-room  sounded  the  mighty 
movement  of  the  engines;  their  tremor 
pulsed  the  ship  with  life. 

In  the  evenings  there  were  movies 
in  the  ward-room.  On  a  sheet  fas- 
tened against  the  forward  bulkhead,  the 
Y.M.C.A.  projector  cast  the  reeling  com- 


104        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

edy  or  tragedy  —  familiar  pictures  from 
a  land  that  was  home:  a  flash  of  American 
rural  scenes  or  a  crowded  street.  It  was 
home  —  our  United  States.  How  ab- 
sorbed we  became  in  the  incident-crowded 
skein  of  some  inconsequential  and  half- 
baked  scenario!  Forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment was  our  present  environment. 

From  the  dark,  tobacco-rifted  room  I 
groped  to  the  deck  to  go  on  my  watch. 
My  eyes  were  dulled  for  the  moment; 
then,  as  they  pierced  the  clear  night  dark- 
ness and  I  saw  the  sea  and  the  stars  and 
the  convoy,  the  magnitude  of  this  great 
mid-Atlantic  drama  would  burst  upon 
me.  Here  was  a  mightier  moving-picture 
than  even  the  imagination  could  conceive, 
here  was  the  most  tremendous  setting, 
here  the  actual  dangers.  Who  knew  what 
heroes  might  be  among  us  an  hour  hence? 

The  destroyers  are  with  us.  Out  of  the 


THE  TRANSPORT  105 

black  night  they  came  straight  to  the 
meeting  place.  The  soft  graying  of  night 
found  them  racing  beside  us.  At  sun- 
rise the  soldiers  crowded  the  rails  and 
watched,  fascinated,  the  strangely  painted 
slender  vessels  haK  smothered  in  the  seas, 
shaking  white  torrents  from  their  dip- 
ping bows,  rolling  and  pitching  with  tre- 
mendous motion.  They  are  our  protec- 
tion. We  feel  strangely  safe  under  their 
vigilant  escort. 

The  white  church  flag,  with  blue  cross, 
fluttered  against  a  gray  sky.  From  the 
bridge  I  could  hear  now  and  then  the 
words  of  the  chaplain,  words  of  God  and 
Country  and  Liberty.  The  soldiers  sur- 
rounded him.  The  bandmaster  lifted  his 
baton.  "Onward,  Christian  Soldiers." 
The  music  of  brass  was  lost  in  the  music 
of  deep  voices: 

"  Onward,  Christian  Soldiers.*' 


106        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

It  was  late  morning.  From  a  dozen 
lookouts  within  a  few  seconds  had  come 
the  cry  of  "  Land ! "  On  the  far  horizon  for 
a  little  space  the  movement  of  the  line  of 
sky  and  sea  seemed  stilled;  a  low  green- 
gray  thread  rested  along  the  waters.  Men 
crowded  forward.  They  clung  to  the 
shrouds  and  climbed  to  every  point  of 
vantage.  The  green  line  whitened  into 
cliffs,  and  through  the  glass  appeared  the 
slender  white  column  of  a  lighthouse. 

The  band  is  on  deck.  It  has  played  the 
"Star-Spangled  Banner."  There  is  a  mo- 
ment of  silence;  and  then,  with  a  crash  of 
brazen  instruments,  the  "Marseillaise" 
begins.  It  is  France! 

The  sails  of  fishing  vessels  dot  the  hori- 
zon. White  bold  cliffs  lift  higher;  promon- 
tories jut  seaward.  A  sea-going  tug  passes 
close  to  us,  guns  mounted  fore-and-aft 
and  racks  of  depth-charges  on  her  fantail. 


THE  TRANSPORT  107 

From  the  peak  a  flag  of  vertical  bars  of 
blue,  white,  and  red  greets  our  eyes.  Sail- 
ors in  red-tufted  white  hats  wave  to  us. 

Now  we  can  see  green  fields  mounting 
slowly  behind  the  white  cliffs.  As  we  near 
land  other  lighthouses  appear,  and  now  I 
can  plainly  see  a  ruined  castle  with  gray 
unroofed  walls.  We  are  moving  slowly  in 
column  through  the  bold  entrance  to  the 
harbor.  Of  a  sudden  appears  the  city, 
cast  into  the  circling  hillside;  gray  build- 
ings with  blue  slate  roofs;  the  white  out- 
lying walls  of  green-embowered  chateaux; 
and  above  the  still  dark  water  of  the  har- 
bor, the  massive  walls  of  ancient  fortifica- 
tions, with  turrets  and  low  towers. 

The  sky  is  very  blue,  the  harbor  is 
alive  with  vessels.  The  anchor-chain  roars 
through  the  hawse-pipe.  We  are  swinging 
slowly  with  the  tide. 

"We  are  over,  over  there!" 


IV 

THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY 

We  are  moored  in  midstream  beside  the 
collier.  On  either  hand  the  river  surges  in 
the  swift  ebb  of  the  tide,  a  broad  expanse 
of  water  tawny  with  mud.  Between  the 
gray  side  of  the  yacht  and  the  camou- 
flaged steel  plates  of  the  collier — launched 
some  eight  months  ago  near  Cleveland  — • 
the  water  runs  like  a  millrace  and  roars 
ominously,  pushing  out  the  bow  of  the 
yacht  against  the  tautened  lines  which 
hold  her  to  the  collier.  Beyond  the  yellow 
water  the  low  green  shores  of  France  fade 
in  the  gray  mist,  and  a  fine  rain  is  falling. 
There  is  a  rumble  of  winches;  from  the 
black  caverns  of  the  collier  a  great  bucket 
of  coal  swings  high  in  the  air  and  dumps 
on  the  once  immaculate  deck  of  the  yacht. 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       109 

Down  it  swings  again  into  the  electric- 
lighted  gloom  where  negro  stevedores  in 
Army  drab,  from  far-away  Norfolk  and 
Charlestown,  shovel  in  the  coal.  On  the 
decks  of  the  yacht  the  crew,  blackened 
with  dust  from  head  to  foot,  pass  down 
the  coal  to  the  fast-filling  bunkers.  For 
five  hours  they  have  labored  unceasingly; 
by  ten  to-night  the  coal  will  be  aboard 
and  the  bunkers  trimmed.  Yesterday  we 
brought  in  the  incoming  convoy,  to-day 
we  coal,  to-morrow  we  are  off  again. 

At  ten  we  cast  off  from  the  collier  and 
stood  down  the  river  to  meet  the  outgoing 
convoy  at  the  mouth.  The  clouds  have 
cleared  and  there  are  dim  stars  in  the  dis- 
tant sky.  It  is  nearly  dawn.  Against  the 
black  shadow  of  the  shore  the  lighthouses 
shine  like  planets,  one  with  a  clear  emer- 
ald gleam  far  out  at  sea.  At  the  entrance 
to  the  harbor  the  long  white  rays  of 


no        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

searchlights  probe  the  darkness,  and  be- 
yond the  dark  outHne  of  the  breakwater 
are  occasional  yellow  lights  of  windows  in 
the  town.  But  in  the  east,  where  the  river 
widens  into  a  broad  roadstead,  a  glitter- 
ing constellation  gleams  along  the  water, 
reaching  almost  from  shore  to  shore.  Here 
the  great  argosy  of  merchantmen  rides  to 
the  flood.  Here  are  the  steel  carriers  laden 
with  the  vast  stores  that  keep  in  motion 
our  machine  of  war.  Here  also  is  the  fleet 
of  emptied  freighters  that  we  will  escort  a 
few  hours  later  out  to  sea.  Their  lights 
glimmer  tranquilly  as  the  white  search- 
lights sweep  the  entrance. 

The  sky  pales  perceptibly  in  the  east. 
From  the  town  a  bell  strikes  the  hour  of 
five.  I  am  on  the  bridge,  and  as  I  count 
the  strokes  I  think  that  it  is  an  hour  be- 
fore midnight  at  home.  In  the  breaking 
day  a  French  patrol  boat  comes  out  from 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       111 

behind  the  mole  and  passes  us  on  her  way 
down  the  channel.  Rapidly  the  clouds 
break  into  flame  and  a  cold,  clear  breeze 
comes  in  from  the  sea.  The  ancient  town 
becomes  visible  in  the  curve  of  the  shore, 
the  spires  of  the  churches,  the  dark  bulk 
of  the  dirigible  shed,  and,  toward  the  sea, 
the  high  white  summer  homes  of  the  newer 
part  of  the  town  along  the  cliff. 

In  the  great  semicircle  of  the  French 
coast  which  swings  from  Brest  to  the 
Spanish  line  are  many  harbors  such  as 
this,  harbors  whose  names  sound  fre- 
quently in  the  early  history  of  our  nation, 
and  whose  names  bear  new  significance  in 
its  latest  history  of  to-day.  Nantes  recalls 
the  Ranger  and  John  Paul  Jones;  Qui- 
beron  Bay,  a  few  miles  north  of  it,  is 
memorable  for  that  first  salute  to  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  by  a  foreign  nation^ 
when   the   guns    of   Admiral   Le   Motte 


11«        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Piquet's  ships  gave  it  recognition.  There 
is  Brest,  rich  in  memories  of  our  first  great 
seaman,  and  there  is  L'Orient  where  the 
Bonhomme  Richard  sailed  out  on  her 
memorable  cruise  that  ended  with  her  en- 
gagement with  the  Serapis  oflF  Flambor- 
ough  Head. 

To-day  the  names  of  Brest,  Nantes, 
L'Orient,  Bordeaux,  and  Bayonne  are 
forming  new  associations.  Waters  that  in 
the  lives  of  the  oldest  inhabitants  have 
seen  only  the  fleets  of  fishermen  and  an 
occasional  steamship  are  to-day  crowded 
with  the  shipping  of  the  Allied  world.  On 
a  coast  where  the  American  flag  found  its 
first  recognition  by  a  French  admiral,  it  is 
to-day  recognized  at  a  thousand  mast- 
heads at  every  port.  Great  wharves  have 
sprung  up  about  the  harbors  and  along 
the  rivers.  American  merchantmen,  con- 
voyed by  American  converted  yachts  and 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       113 

destroyers,  discharge  American  cargoes 
for  American  armies  overseas.  The  flag 
has  come  to  its  own  again. 

It  is  day.  In  the  bright  smishine  almost 
a  hmidred  ships  swing  slowly  at  their  an- 
chor chains,  a  vast  floating  island  of  steel 
hulls,  forested  with  slim,  sparless  masts 
and  faintly  smoking  stacks.  Our  anchor  is 
lifted  and  the  chain  riunbles  up  through 
the  hawse-pipe.  Slowly  we  steam  past  a 
wide  mile  of  vessels  to  our  position. 

Here  are  the  flags  of  the  nations  of  the 
world,  but  by  far  most  numerous  are  the 
Stars  and  Stripes.  The  red  flag  of  the 
English  merchantman  is  much  in  evi- 
dence, and  so  are  the  crosses  of  Denmark, 
Sweden,  and  Norway  and  the  tri-color  of 
France.  From  a  big  freighter  flies  the  sin- 
gle star  of  Cuba.  The  red  sun  of  Japan 
and  the  green  and  yellow  ensign  of  Brazil 
snap  smartly  in  the  breeze.  A  few  of  the 


114        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

freighters  are  painted  a  leaden  gray,  but 
for  the  most  part  they  are  gay  with  cam- 
ouflage. The  spattered  effects  of  the  ear- 
lier days  are  now  replaced  by  broad  bands 
of  flat  colors.  Black,  white,  blue,  and  gray 
are  the  favorites,  slanting  to  the  bow  or 
stern  and  carried  across  life-rafts,  boats, 
superstructures,  and  funnels.  Even  the 
motor  trucks  on  the  deck  of  a  big  Ameri- 
can are  included  in  the  color  plan.  Some 
appear  to  be  sinking  by  the  head,  others 
at  a  distance  seem  each  to  be  several  ves- 
sels. It  is  a  fancy  dress  carnival,  a  kaleido- 
scope of  color.  One  and  all  they  are  of 
heavy  and  ugly  lines.  On  forward  and 
after  decks  the  masts  seem  designed  only 
to  lift  the  cargo  booms  and  spread  the 
wireless.  They  are  broad  of  beam,  mon- 
strous, ungainly.  The  oil  burners  are  even 
more  unshiplike,  for  a  single  small  funnel 
is  substituted  for  the  balanced  stacks  of 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       115 

the  coal-burners.  Fore  and  aft  on  the  gun- 
decks  the  long  tubes  of  the  guns  point  out 
over  bow  and  stern.  Yankee  gun  crews, 
baggy  blue  trousers  slapping  in  the 
breeze,  stand  beside  them  and  watch  us 
pass.  Blue-clad  oflBcers  peer  down  at  us 
from  the  bridges.  Aloft,  hoists  of  gay  sig- 
nal flags,  red,  yellow,  white,  and  blue, 
flutter  like  confetti  in  the  air.  From  signal 
bridges  bluejackets  are  sending  sema- 
phore signals  with  red  and  yellow  flags.  A 
big  American  ocean-going  tug  churns 
through  the  fleet.  On  our  right  is  a 
French  mine-layer,  long  rows  of  mines 
along  her  deck.  Fast  motor  boats  slide  in 
and  out  among  the  vessels.  Above,  like 
dragon-flies,  three  seaplanes  circle,  the 
droning  snarl  of  their  motors  coming  in 
sudden  bursts  of  sound  along  the  wind. 

The  outward-bound  convoy  of  empty 
freighters  is  ready.  Bursts  of  steam  from 


116        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

bows  indicate  that  anchor  engines  are 
lifting  the  big  mud-hooks  from  the  har- 
bor's floor.  One  by  one  the  ships  steam 
slowly  out  of  the  harbor;  converted 
yachts  and  small  French  destroyers  on 
either  side.  Out  where  the  entrance  broad- 
ens to  the  open  sea  a  big  kite  balloon  tugs 
at  the  small  steamer  far  beneath  it,  and 
seems  to  drag  it  by  a  slender  cord  of  steel. 
As  we  pass  the  farthest  channel  buoy  a 
barque  stands  in  from  the  sea  and  passes 
us.  The  centuries  meet.  Trim  and  grace- 
ful, with  clean-cut  lines  and  tapering 
masts  and  spars,  the  ship  seems  to  rush 
through  the  green  water,  a  white  bone  in 
her  teeth,  and  her  canvas  bellying  like 
clouds  before  the  wind.  Along  her  side  is 
painted  a  broad  white  band  broken  at 
regular  intervals  with  squares  of  black 
simulating  the  gun-ports  of  a  fighting 
ship.   She  might  belong  to  the  fleet  of 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       117 

Nelson  or  of  Villeneuve;  a  century  has 
worked  no  changes  in  the  sea  or  the  back- 
ground of  the  low  French  coast.  Then  my 
eyes  turn  to  the  long  line  of  stout  steel 
freighters,  wisps  of  smoke  streaking  from 
their  funnels  against  the  sky,  heavily 
plodding  into  a  head  sea  and  wind.  Gone 
is  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  wooden  hull 
and  sky-flimg  sails. 

Each  trip  that  we  make  is  for  the  most 
part  exactly  like  the  others.  From  some 
crowded  harbor  we  escort  a  fleet  of  empty 
freighters  far  out  beyond  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay. Here,  beyond  the  active  submarine 
zone  the  yachts  and  small  French  patrol 
boats  leave  the  convoy  and  a  few  hours 
later,  or  perhaps  a  day  or  night,  we  meet 
an  incoming  convoy  on  some  prearranged 
square  mile  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  es- 
cort it  to  the  port.  Every  hour  is  filled 
with  unceasing  vigilance;  no  chance  is 


118        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

taken;  the  safe  delivery  of  our  charge  is  of 
paramount  importance.  No  matter  what 
conditions  of  weather  prevail  the  work 
goes  on.  In  fog  and  rain,  in  high  seas  and 
in  the  teeth  of  northwest  gales,  the  little 
vessels  perform  their  unremitting  duty. 
By  day  the  convoys  move  forward  along 
a  base  course,  zigzagging  to  the  right  or 
left  of  it,  now  ten  degrees,  now  fifteen, 
now  twenty  or  thirty,  according  to  a 
prearranged  plan,  with  the  precision  of 
a  company  of  well-drilled  infantry.  In 
front,  in  the  rear,  and  on  the  flanks  the 
escorting  yachts  and  destroyers  execute 
their  individual  zigzags  to  cover  every  ex- 
posed part  of  the  convoy.  By  this  system 
of  zigzag  the  accurate  aiming  of  a  torpedo 
by  a  submarine  is  rendered  difficult,  for  if 
a  periscope  is  lifted  and  a  bearing  of  a 
ship  is  taken,  that  ship  will  probably  be 
headed  on  another  course,  with  necessa- 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       119 

rily  a  different  bearing  from  the  submerged 
submarine  by  the  time  the  torpedo  can  be 
fired.  Few  are  the  cases  to-day  when  the 
submarine  actually  shows  itseK  by  day. 
The  first  sight  of  the  periscope  may  be 
when  it  is  first  lifted  at  a  distance  of  sev- 
eral miles  when  the  submarine  will  follow 
the  convoy  on  a  parallel  line  to  determine 
its  bearings  and  finally  will  converge  to- 
wards it  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees 
on  the  bow  of  the  convoy.  Having  deter- 
mined the  bearing  and  range  the  subma- 
rine will  submerge.  Only  once  more  will 
the  periscope  appear,  this  time  at  a  dis- 
tance of  about  three  hundred  yards.  Then 
it  will  be  visible  only  a  few  seconds;  just 
long  enough  to  take  final  aim.  DiflScult  to 
detect  in  a  calm  sea,  except  from  the  wake 
which  it  may  create,  it  is  practically  in- 
visible in  a  wind-torn  sea  slashed  with 
white  caps. 


120        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

From  the  crow's  nest,  from  the  super- 
structure, and  from  the  bridge  a  dozen  or 
more  pairs  of  sharp  eyes  are  constantly- 
searching  the  sea  with  glasses  to  detect  a 
sign  of  the  submarine's  presence.  Like  all 
the  converted  yachts,  we  carry  a  small 
but  efficient  battery  of  high-power  guns, 
capable  of  doing  considerable  damage  if 
there  is  a  chance  for  their  use;  but  it  is  not 
on  guns  that  we  rely  nor  are  our  guns  the 
weapon  most  feared  by  the  submarine. 
On  the  graceful  fantail  of  the  yacht,  along 
three  short  steel  racks,  lie  a  number  of 
steel  cylinders,  of  ordinary  ash-can  size 
and  appearance,  ready  at  a  second's  no- 
tice to  be  rolled  one  by  one  over  the 
stern.  Charged  each  with  over  three 
hundred  pounds  of  the  highest  explosive, 
these  depth  charges  are  controlled  by  a 
hydrostatic  apparatus  to  explode  at  any 
depth  for  which  they  may  be  set.  Within  a 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       121 

radius  of  fifty  to  seventy-five  yards  their 
impact  can  destroy  a  submarine  and  their 
effect  is  noticeable  over  a  wide  area.  It 
is  this  form  of  weapon,  scattered  by  the 
yachts  and  destroyers,  according  to  a  sys- 
tem based  on  the  known  maneuvering 
abihty  of  the  submarine,  that  has  accom- 
pHshed  most  in  destroying  the  menace  of 
the  seas. 

By  night  our  greatest  danger  lies  not  so 
much  in  submarine  attacks  as  in  collision 
with  vessels  of  the  convoy,  the  escort,  or 
other  passing  ships.  Not  a  light  is  shown; 
with  ports  darkened  and  all  illumination 
even  below  decks  reduced  to  a  minimum, 
the  great  convoys  and  their  escorts  pursue 
their  ghostlike  way.  In  the  blackest  nights 
the  compass  is  the  only  guide,  and  with 
lookouts  straining  their  eyes  to  pierce  the 
darkness  each  ship  swings  steadily  on. 
When  the  moon  is  up,  even  though  the 


129        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

sky  is  overcast,  there  is  ample  light  to  lo- 
cate the  low,  black  masses  of  the  ships  on 
the  horizon.  Such  nights  are  ideal,  for 
they  are  too  dark  for  probable  attack  and 
yet  there  is  enough  light  by  which  to 
see.  The  bright  moonlight  requires  the 
same  precaution  as  daylight.  Night  is  the 
breathing-time  for  the  submarine,  and  it 
is  then  that  they  come  to  the  surface  and, 
with  hatches  open,  charge  their  batteries 
and  communicate  with  one  another  by 
wireless.  And  when  caught  in  this  condi- 
tion the  submarine  is  easy  prey. 

In  the  fall  and  winter  months  it  is  al- 
most invariably  rough  in  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay. Built  for  quiet  steaming  along  sum- 
mer shores  from  port  to  port  the  yachts 
have  been  required  to  perform  a  duty  for 
which  they  were  neither  intended  nor  de- 
signed. The  yacht  to  which  I  am  attached 
bears  little  resemblance  to-day  to  what  it 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       123 

must  have  been  in  the  days  of  peace. 
Where  a  crew  of  twenty  or  twenty-five 
once  Hved,  to-day  a  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  are  quartered.  Bunks  fill  former 
smoking-room  and  library.  Rough  parti- 
tions divide  the  owner's  cabin;  mahogany 
and  brass  and  white  enamel  are  buried 
under  haK  a  dozen  coats  of  battle  gray. 
The  concussions  of  depth  charges  have 
broken  glass  and  ripped  white  tiles  from 
bathroom  walls.  Gun-racks  and  cutlasses 
line  bulkheads  of  mahogany.  White  decks 
once  smooth  as  velvet  are  torn  and  splin- 
tered by  the  wear  of  a  year  and  a  half 
of  bitter  service.  Aft,  where  once  wicker 
chairs  and  gay  pillows  filled  the  broad 
curve  of  the  stern,  are  guns,  steel  am- 
munition chests,  and  launching  tracks 
heavy  with  depth  charges.  In  the  deep 
waters  of  the  Bay  lie  two  of  her  sisters, 
one  rammed  at  night,  another  sunk  by  a 


134        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

torpedo;  a  third  yacht  lies  broken  on  a 
reef. 

I  have  been  particularly  interested  in 
the  officers  and  the  crew  of  this  little 
vessel,  and  I  believe  they  are  typical  of 
most  of  the  ships  performing  this  weary- 
ing duty;  it  gives  an  interesting  sidelight 
on  American  adaptability.  Our  Captain, 
a  '*  two-and-a-half  striper,"  is  a  regular 
Navy  man  and  a  graduate  of  the  Naval 
Academy.  He  is  still  in  his  twenties  and  is 
receiving  this  training  as  a  preparatory 
course  to  a  more  important  command. 
The  rest  of  the  officers  are  Reserves, 
ranging  in  age  from  twenty  to  forty-six, 
drawn  from  every  part  of  the  country  and 
representing  a  variety  of  vocations.  One 
dealt  in  fire  insurance  before  the  war,  an- 
other was  a  capitalist;  there  is  a  patent 
lawyer,  a  college  undergraduate,  an  ath- 
letic instructor,  an  advertising  man,  a 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       135 

broker,  and  a  manufacturer.  We  hail  from 
Massachusetts,  New  York,  Virginia,  Min- 
nesota, California,  Washington,  and  Illi- 
nois, and  here  we  are,  on  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  and,  thanks  to  the  Navy  Depart- 
ment and  the  training  it  has  given  us,  we 
are  doing  the  work  in  hand;  not  like  regu- 
lars, perhaps,  but  still  doing  our  best. 

The  crew  is  a  fine,  enthusiastic  aggrega- 
tion of  American  youth  salted  with  a  gen- 
erous sprinkling  of  men  who  have  seen 
service  before  the  war  in  the  Navy  or 
on  merchantmen.  "Mac,"  with  a  sailor's 
roll  in  his  wiry  legs,  knows  "no  home  but 
the  ship"  and  has  been  at  sea  for  twenty 
years,  since  his  first  voyage  at  the  age  of 
thirteen.  Many  of  the  youngsters  are  in 
for  a  full  four-year  "hitch"  as  a  part  of 
their  education  and  for  a  chance  to  see 
something  of  the  world.  They  won't  re- 
gret it  and  many  will  make  it  their  life- 


126        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

work,  for  there  will  be  room  for  the  right 
men  in  the  future  Navy  of  the  United 
States.  There  is  a  young  coxswain  who 
taught  country  school  in  a  Kansas  village, 
a  quiet  little  fellow  with  precise  English 
and  an  absolute  unconcern  for  seafaring 
ways.  Another  youngster,  from  Boston,  is 
the  entertainer  of  the  "glory  hold."  He 
has  never  missed  a  chance  to  make  a 
liberty  on  shore,  and  invariably  returns 
materially  strengthened  in  his  rampant 
admiration  of  the  places,  people,  and  cus- 
toms of  his  native  land.  **  Biarritz  is  all 
right,"  I  heard  him  remark  after  a  visit  to 
that  fashionable  resort,  "  but  give  me  Re- 
vere Beach  for  a  real  place."  And  there  is 
nothing  in  all  Europe  that  can  compare 
with  his  native  Boston.  It's  the  same 
with  the  rest  of  them.  Everything  re- 
ceives an  invidious  comparison  with  the 
American  equivalent  and  each  trip  on 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       127 

shore  strengthens  their  proud  American- 
ism. 

But  to  return  to  the  convoy.  There  was 
a  heavy  sea  roUing  in  over  the  bar,  and 
outside  the  bottle-green  waves  made  the 
yachts  and  destroyers  toss  heavily.  An 
hour  later,  under  a  dark,  clouded  sky,  the 
convoy  was  pitching  and  rolling  in  a  con- 
stantly growing  sea,  and  as  night  came, 
wind  and  driving  blasts  of  fine  rain  added 
to  the  discomfort.  I  went  on  the  bridge 
at  eight,  a  perilous  climb  from  the  ward- 
room up  over  slippery  decks  and  the 
swaying  ladder  to  the  bridge.  In  the  utter 
blackness  the  other  ships  of  the  convoy 
and  escort  had  disappeared.  There  was  no 
light  of  moon  or  stars  and  even  a  flash  of 
light  on  any  ship  was  forbidden.  Only 
before  the  helmsman's  face  shone  the 
dim  slit  in  the  binnacle  through  which  he 
watched  the  compass  swinging  madly  on 


ns        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

the  gimbles.  The  sea  was  black  with 
slashes  of  dead-white  spray  running  along 
the  wave  crests,  and  as  our  bow  sank  into 
each  wave,  it  cast  a  white  millrace  of  foam 
aft  along  our  sides,  the  ship  shuddering 
heavily  at  the  impact.  Over  the  breast- 
high  canvas  along  the  bridge  the  wind 
flowed  like  rushing  water,  heavy  blasts 
soaked  with  spray  striking  our  faces  like 
blows  from  a  flat  board.  I  left  the  bridge 
at  midnight,  but  sleep  was  almost  impos- 
sible, for  the  rolling  and  pitching  of  the 
yacht  continued  with  increasing  violence. 
Day  dawned  with  a  low,  gray  sky  and  a 
heaving  leaden  sea  lashed  white  in  the 
wind,  the  water  streaked  with  soapy  ed- 
dies blowing  to  windward.  East  and  west 
along  our  course  the  convoy  staggered  on. 
The  formation  was  broken,  but  all  were 
accounted  for.  Still  clinging  to  the  out- 
skirts the  yachts  and  destroyers  rose  and 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       129 

disappeared  between  the  waves,  their 
smoke  streaming  back  flat  from  their 
stacks  along  the  wind.  During  the  morn- 
ing the  hfeboats  swung  from  davits  on 
our  upper  deck  were  several  times  dragged 
in  the  water  by  a  heavy  roll,  and  a  big  sea 
smashed  in  the  wardroom  windows  and 
deluged  the  officers'  quarters  with  a  cou- 
ple of  barrelfuls  of  water. 

The  wind  dropped  somewhat  during  the 
afternoon,  and  by  evening  the  clouds  had 
broken  and  here  and  there  bright  stars 
flashed  for  brief  moments  a  promise  of 
better  weather  to  come.  The  following  day 
dawned  with  a  splendor  of  gold  and  rose- 
stained  clouds  piled  against  the  east  and  a 
clear  blue  sky  above.  The  sea  was  rich 
with  the  brilliant  ultramarine  of  deep 
water,  and  as  the  sun  rose  above  the 
clouds  the  white  crests  caught  a  pink 
tinge  from  the  sunlight.  In  the  clear,  cold 


130        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

air  came  now  and  then  from  the  oil-burn- 
ing freighters  invisible  wisps  of  smoke  like 
the  strong  smell  of  a  smoking  kerosene 
lamp. 

With  the  first  tinge  of  dawn  comes  one 
of  the  most  favorable  times  for  a  sub- 
marine attack  —  the  other  being  the  hour 
of  twilight  —  for  it  is  possible  for  a  sub- 
marine to  locate  and  follow  a  convoy  un- 
observed during  the  night  and  make  the 
attack  with  the  first  morning  light.  With 
dawn  also  comes  a  renewed  vigilance  on 
the  part  of  the  escort  and  convoy,  out- 
looks are  increased  and  the  sea  is  thor- 
oughly scanned  for  a  tell-tale  slick  of  oil 
from  a  submarine's  exhaust;  for  flocks  of 
birds  hovering  over  refuse  cast  up  from  a 
submarine,  or  for  a  chance  glimpse  of  a 
silvery  periscope  among  the  waves. 

For  a  number  of  days  we  plodded  west- 
ward, the  convoy  in  orderly  formation 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY        131 

pursuing  a  constantly  varied  zigzag,  and 
the  escort  in  front,  behind,  and  on  either 
flank  zigzagging  more  or  less  independ- 
ently. Late  one  afternoon,  after  an  hour 
of  fluttering  signal  flags  and  much  signal- 
ing by  semaphore,  we  parted  from  the 
convoy  and  with  the  other  ships  of  the 
escort,  and  in  the  soft  twilight  stood  north 
to  the  rendezvous  of  the  incoming  convoy. 
I  went  on  the  bridge  at  four  in  the 
morning.  It  was  still  night  with  a  dim 
mist  of  stars  and  a  jet-black  sea  heaving 
in  long  swells.  Behind  the  wheel  the 
helmsman  stood,  a  shrouded  figure  in 
his  wind-and-rain  suit,  the  peaked  hood 
drawn  over  his  head.  On  either  wing  of 
the  bridge  were  similarly  clad  lookouts. 
Hot  coffee  and  bread  had  just  been 
brought  up  from  the  galley  by  the  messen- 
ger. We  had  picked  up  the  incoming  con- 
voy at  one  and  the  oflScer  of  the  deck 


132        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

pointed  out,  through  our  night-glasses, 
their  dark  forms  Hke  low  mounds  on  the 
black  horizon. 

The  night  watches,  on  a  still  night,  are 
filled  with  a  silence  that  is  intensified  by 
the  motion  of  the  ship  and  the  soft  pres- 
sure of  the  wind.  Dawn  comes  slowly  with 
gray  white  light  that  gradually  defines 
the  ship  and  the  figures  of  the  watchers  on 
the  bridge.  Then  comes  a  moment  when 
the  other  ships  become  definite.  On  this 
particular  morning  a  soft  haze  filled  the 
air.  As  the  reflected  glow  of  the  sun,  still 
below  the  horizon,  caught  the  eastern 
clouds,  the  convoy,  a  great  flotilla  of 
black  objects,  appeared  resting  quietly 
like  a  flock  of  gulls  on  the  sea.  Then  as  the 
dawn  brightened  a  low- voiced  whistle  on 
one  of  the  distant  vessels  broke  the  still- 
ness, the  long  and  short  blasts  sounding 
a  signal  letter.   One  by  one  the  others 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       133 

answered,  deep  bass  voices,  melodious, 
resonant,  calling  to  one  another  like  sea- 
fowl  greeting  the  day  and  assuring  them- 
selves of  the  others'  presence. 

We  made  our  "landfall"  on  a  gray  day 
which  gradually  brightened,  and  by  after- 
noon a  warm  October  sun  was  shining  on 
the  green  shoal  waters  of  the  coast.  First 
appeared  a  tall  white  lighthouse,  then  the 
thin  line  of  the  shore.  In  the  afternoon  the 
wireless  reported  a  submarine  eight  miles 
on  our  starboard  beam.  A  great  French 
dirigible  had  located  it  and  was  follow- 
ing it  until  the  hurrying  destroyers  and 
aeroplanes  could  complete  its  destruction. 
With  renewed  vigilance  we  continued  our 
way  along  the  broken  coast.  Out  of  the 
mist  the  aeroplanes,  like  the  wild  geese  of 
the  north,  winged  straight  across  us  and 
were  gone.  A  half -hour  later  two  dirigi- 
bles ploughed  seaward  through  the  mist. 


134        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Twilight.  In  the  dusk  the  famiHar 
flashes  of  the  Hghthouses  promised  a  safe 
arrival.  Slowly,  in  long  formation  we 
stood  up  the  harbor.  The  rattle  and  roar 
of  descending  anchor  chains  sounded  over 
the  quiet  water.  Another  great  convoy  of 
twenty-seven  steel  cargo  ships,  laden  with 
food,  steel,  oil,  trucks,  ammunition,  and 
general  supplies,  had  reached  its  destina- 
tion. Four  hours  later  we  began  to  coal. 

I  remember  on  another  convoy  a  night 
of  brilliant  stars  in  a  purple  sky  with  fre- 
quent squalls  of  rain  that  swept  across  it 
in  the  cold  gale  that  blew  from  the  north- 
west. There  was  a  tremendous  sea  and 
the  ship  rode  heavily  with  a  constant  tor- 
rent of  water  breaking  over  her.  Suddenly, 
far  ahead,  flashed  a  signal  from  another 
yacht  of  the  escort,  "Submarine  on  port 
bow."  In  an  instant  the  gongs  were  clang- 
ing below  decks  and  the  strident,  deep 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       135 

voices  of  the  howlers  were  adding  to  the 
tumult.  Up  from  below  decks  the  crew 
swarmed  into  the  sudden  chill  of  the 
spray-soaked  air,  tying  the  lashings  of 
their  life-preservers  as  they  ran.  I  hur- 
ried to  my  position  at  the  depth  charges 
on  the  fantail,  where  already  the  depth- 
charge  crew  were  loosening  the  chocks 
and  standing  ready  to  pull  the  safety 
keys,  slash  the  lashings,  and  cast  them 
loose.  At  the  after  guns  black  groups  of 
half-naked  men  were  gathered,  faces  now 
and  then  faintly  illumined  in  the  dim 
glow  of  the  tiny  lights  on  the  range  dials. 
A  sudden  sea  —  a  wall  of  black  water  — 
submerged  us  to  our  waists  and  poured 
oflF  as  the  stern  lifted  heavily,  the  scupper 
drains  sucking  noisily  and  the  remaining 
water  swashing  back  and  forth  across  the 
deck.  For  an  hour  we  stood  in  readiness. 
Then  came  the  order  to  "secure."  Dan- 


136        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ger,  real  or  speculative,  was  for  the  time 
being  past. 

Ever  since  the  United  States  entered 
the  war,  the  yachts  and  destroyers  of  the 
merchant  convoys  have  played  their  si- 
lent part  in  the  struggle  with  a  submarine 
enemy.  In  every  kind  of  weather,  month 
after  month,  the  dull  routine  of  the  con- 
voy work  goes  steadily  on.  By  night, 
over  the  wireless,  come  the  undecipherable 
messages  of  talking  submarines,  the  air- 
flung  voices  of  the  convoys,  and  the  near 
or  distant  "Alio"  of  distress.  "We  are 
being  shelled  by  a  submarine,"  may  be 
the  words  caught  by  the  wireless  opera- 
tor, or  the  ofiicer  on  the  bridge  may  see 
suddenly  the  flashing  signal  of  distress  of 
a  straggler  in  his  own  convoy  and  realize 
that  the  sea-sharks  have  closed  in  on 
their  victim.  There  are  days  and  nights 
when  the  wardrooms  and  the  crews'  quar- 


THE  FREIGHT  CONVOY       137 

ters  are  crowded  with  the  refugees  from 
sinking  vessels.  There  have  been  aban- 
doned merchantmen  with  their  costly  car- 
goes that  have  been  manned  and  brought 
half -sinking  into  port  by  crews  from  the 
yachts  or  destroyers.  There  have  been 
open  boats  strewn  with  dead  and  dying 
that  have  been  sighted  far  out  on  the 
bleak  sea,  and  dead  bloated  bodies  in  life- 
jackets  that  have  gone  bobbing  past. 

But  in  spite  of  every  disadvantage, 
hardship,  and  discomfort  that  has  ever 
been  known  to  those  who  have  sought  the 
sea  in  ships,  the  officers  and  men  of  the 
American  Naval  Forces  in  France  have 
delivered  safe  to  their  designated  harbors 
the  great  and  ever-increasing  fleets  of 
merchantmen  that  have  kept  our  battle- 
line  supplied  with  the  sinews  of  war. 
Never  has  the  American  Navy  played  a 
greater  and  more  unostentatious  part  in 


138        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

the  great  game  of  war.  And  never  has 
been  more  truly  illustrated  the  words  of 
Washington,  pointing  so  clearly  to  the 
future,  ''to  an  active,  external  commerce 
the  protection  of  a  naval  force  is  indis- 
pensable." 


DESTROYERS 
It  was  a  dazzling  blue-and-gold  morning 
when  I  first  saw  the  destroyers.  Out  of  the 
night  they  had  come.  Like  land  birds  they 
greeted  us  on  the  waste  of  waters,  and  as 
we  realized  the  strength  of  their  protec- 
tion in  this  submarine-infested  sea  that 
bordered  the  coast  of  France,  we  looked 
down  at  them  from  the  high  decks  of  the 
transports  with  admiration  and  watched 
them  swing  and  plunge  at  headlong  speed 
in  a  smother  of  spray,  chisel  bows  dipping 
under  green  water,  slender  masts  reeling 
in  wide  arcs,  camouflaged  sides  now  visi- 
ble, now  lost  to  view  as  they  caught  the 
swinging  seas.  They  circled  us  and  took 
their  positions,  the  tiny  flag  of  the  United 
States  snapping  from  their  mainmasts. 


140        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

We  felt  unutterable  comfort  in  their  com- 
pany. 

A  few  months  later  I  was  ordered  to 
destroyer  duty;  with  the  anticipation  of 
this  new  and  thrilling  service  I  took  my 
leave  from  the  converted  yachts  and  the 
great,  lazy  storeship  convoys  of  the  south 
and  proceeded  to  Brest,  where  the  destroy- 
ers of  the  troopship  convoys  were  based.  I 

Never  can  I  forget  that  ancient  harbor 
with  the  old  town  cast  into  its  green  rim, 
the  narrow,  high,  rock-walled  entrance, 
and  the  busy  water  that  lay  within  the 
breakwater,  where  lay  the  great  trans- 
ports and  the  repair  ships  and  where  the 
destroyers  rested  like  slender  slivers  of 
quivering  steel  side  by  side  in  clusters  at 
the  great  buoys.  At  night  the  blinkers 
trembled  like  fireflies  from  a  hundred 
yards,  searchlights  combed  the  sky,  red 
and  green  running  lights  trembled  on  the 


DESTROYERS  141 

water,  and  everywhere  were  the  lights  of 
passing  small  boats.  By  day  all  was  ac- 
tivity. In  through  the  narrow  entrance 
came  great  convoys,  liners  with  decks 
teeming  with  khaki-clad  armies,  brave 
eyes  wonderingly  looking  down  at  this 
distant  shore  from  which  so  many  were 
never  to  return,  destroyers  darting  fast 
through  the  still  waters  in  escort.  And 
each  week  departed  the  outgoing  convoys 
of  empty  liners,  destroyers  in  escort  to 
return  some  five  days  later  with  other 
ships  and  other  legions. 

There  were  eight  oflScers  on  the  Ben- 
ham  and  a  crew  of  over  a  hundred  men. 
A  thousand  some  odd  was  her  ton- 
nage, eighteen  thousand  horse-power,  oil- 
burner,  turbine-driven,  a  lean,  graceful 
arrow  with  a  knife-edged  bow  and  four 
rakish  stacks  on  her  low,  wave-washed 
back.  Forward,  a  single  gun  graced  the 


142        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

lofty  deck;  then  the  towering  superstruc- 
ture of  the  bridge,  and  aft  of  the  bridge  the 
sudden  drop  to  a  five-foot  free  board  that 
extended  aft  Hke  a  shaft  behind  a  lance- 
head  to  the  stern,  where  Y-gun,  Thorny- 
croft  throwers,  and  depth-charge  tracks 
told  the  story  of  her  duty. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  A  great 
liner  of  the  early  nineties,  a  vessel  that  a 
generation  ago  set  new  records  for  speed 
and  luxuriousness,  lifted  her  anchor  and 
stood  down  the  channel.  In  the  center  of  a 
group  of  destroyers  we  cast  off  our  lines;  a 
sudden  churning  of  water  under  our  stern 
and  we  slid  out  into  the  clear.  Slowly  we 
swung  around  and  headed  out  of  the  inner 
harbor  at  fifteen  knots,  only  a  faint  quiv- 
ering of  the  thin  steel  shell  indicating  the 
presence  of  the  heavy  moving  machinery 
that  filled  the  narrow  hull. 

There  is  a  monotony  in  all  things,  and  I 


DESTROYERS  143 

suppose  that  to  the  officers  and  men  who 
had  innumerable  times  steamed  out  of  the 
harbor  with  a  convoy  it  was  an  old  story 
now  of  small  interest.  But  to  me  it  was 
each  time  an  adventure,  and  from  the 
first  storeship  convoy  I  accompanied  out 
of  the  Gironde  to  the  last  troopship  con- 
voy out  of  Brest,  I  always  received  a  thrill 
of  anticipation  and  a  vain  hope  for  the 
real  adventure  which  meant  an  actual 
brush  with  a  submarine. 

On  this  particular  trip,  bad  weather  — • 
no  worse  than  much  and  better  than  some 
—  gave  the  interest.  It  was  a  yellow  eve- 
ning and  the  sun  finally  settled  behind 
thin  clouds  and  flattened  on  the  horizon. 
The  sea  was  oily  with  a  long,  smooth  swell 
that  gave  the  destroyer  a  slow,  heaving 
motion  as  we  cut  the  water  at  a  twenty- 
knot  speed.  Behind  us  the  high  cliffs  of 
Finistere  disappeared  in  evening  mist.  On 


144        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

our  port  beam  the  darkened  transport 
steamed  steadily,  silently,  and  without 
perceptible  movement.  Soft  stars  cau- 
tiously appeared  like  white  dust-flecks  in 
the  darkening  blue. 

I  climbed  down  from  the  bridge  and  en- 
tered the  passage  to  the  wardroom  where 
a  dim  blue  light  brightened  automat- 
ically as  I  shut  the  outer  door.  In  the 
wardroom,  safe  behind  closed  port  shut- 
ters, electric  lights  gleamed  against  white 
enameled  bulkheads.  The  ward-room  ex- 
tends athwart  ships.  It  is  the  living-room 
and  dining-room,  a  simple  white  steel  cell, 
furnished  with  table,  chairs,  desk,  a  book- 
case, and  a  couple  of  divans  at  either  end. 
Forward,  extending  amidships,  is  a  nar- 
row passage,  on  each  side  of  which  are  the 
small  rooms  of  the  oflScers,  and  at  the  far 
end  is  the  bathroom,  if  a  single  shower 
deserves  the  name. 


DESTROYERS  145 

Colored  and  Philippine  mess  attend- 
ants were  setting  the  table,  and  soon  after 
we  sat  down  to  dinner,  the  "Captain,"  a 
commander  in  the  regular  Navy,  at  the 
head,  and  the  Mess  Treasurer  at  the  foot. 
There  were  eight  of  us  on  the  Benham,  a 
couple  more  than  were  required,  but  all 
the  destroyers  carried  several  extra  offi- 
cers in  order  that  the  men  might  be 
trained  for  the  new  construction  building 
at  home.  Of  the  eight,  four  were  graduates 
of  the  Naval  Academy  —  as  fine  fellows 
as  I  ever  hope  to  meet  anywhere.  Three 
were  graduates  of  the  short  four  months' 
Annapolis  course,  in  private  life  a  lawyer, 
a  cotton  manufacturer,  and  a  student, 
and  hailing  originally  from  Harvard, 
Yale,  and  Columbia.  I  was  the  eighth. 
Though  I  live  long  I  can  never  forget  the 
splendid  type  of  American  manhood  these 
companions  represented. 


146        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

After  the  dinner  was  cleared  away  and 
the  felt  cloth  was  spread  on  the  table,  our 
usual  evening  began.  At  eight  the  deck 
was  relieved  and  a  couple  of  us  left  the 
warmth  and  light  below  for  a  four-hour 
vigil  on  the  bridge.  If  the  "'Duke"  and  I 
found  one  evening  free,  we  invariably 
played  solitaire  in  heated  competition. 
Wright  occasionally  afforded  music  on  a 
mandolin  borrowed  from  the  steward,  or 
we  read  or  studied,  or  more  often  talked 
of  when  the  War  would  end,  and  how,  and 
home.  Such  was  an  evening  of  relative 
calm  at  sea.  They  were  few. 

We  left  our  convoy  at  ten  in  the  eve- 
ning, and  turning  to  the  northwest,  pro- 
ceeded alone  to  the  rendezvous  where 
we  should  assemble  with  other  destroy- 
ers and  pick  up  the  incoming  convoy. 
Three  great  convoys  were  out  at  sea  and 
all  nearing  France.  The  last  great  move- 


DESTROYERS  147 

ment  of  American  troops  was  nearing  port. 

Day  dawned  late  in  a  gray  sky  and  dis- 
closed an  empty,  heaving  sea.  A  gale  was 
rising  and  the  wind,  dead  ahead  of  us,  was 
beginning  to  make  our  steering  difficult, 
for  the  light  high  bow  of  the  destroyer 
acted  like  a  sail  and  tended  to  blow  us  off 
our  course.  By  noon  a  heavy  sea  was  run- 
ning, great  gray  suds-streaked  ranges  of 
water  that  poured  over  us.  With  a  quick, 
lifting  motion  our  bow  reared  on  each  ad- 
vancing wave  and  then  seemed  to  sink  or 
rather  fall  with  the  breath-taking  sudden- 
ness of  an  express  elevator.  The  rolling 
also  had  materially  increased  and  we 
moved  from  place  to  place  about  the  deck 
with  difficulty. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  sun  racing  be- 
hind a  sky  of  tawny  clouds  blinked  occa- 
sionally on  a  maddened  sea.  On  the  bridge 
a  constant  deluge  of  water  poured  over  us; 


148        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

a  good  thirty  feet  we  stood  above  the 
water-Hne,  and  the  wind,  its  violence  aug- 
mented by  our  headlong  speed,  came  like 
knife-blades  through  each  crack  or  aper- 
ture in  the  bridge.  Below  decks  all  was 
heat,  cooking,  and  the  reek  of  fuel  oil; 
topside  all  was  water  and  the  terrific 
wind.  Just  before  sunset  a  huge  cross- 
wave  carried  away  the  motor  dory.  The 
pace  was  too  fast;  we  were  well  ahead  of 
the  rendezvous;  at  dusk  we  turned  our 
stern  to  the  gale  and  at  eight  knots  rolled 
slowly  before  it.  In  the  course  of  these  few 
hours  we  later  discovered  that  we  had  had 
much  ammunition  torn  away  out  of  the 
racks,  and  just  before  we  turned,  another 
big  sea  had  smashed  in  our  motor  sailer. 
Incidentally,  this  and  the  motor  dory 
were  our  only  boats. 

The  wardroom  was  awash  with  about 
six  inches  of  water  that  had  leaked  in 


DESTROYERS  149 

at  some  place  —  a  dirty  flood  in  which 
floated  cigarette  stubs,  cigar  butts,  and 
matches  from  capsized  ash-trays,  a  couple 
of  old  magazines  and  the  "'Duke's"  deck 
of  playing-cards.  With  a  five-second  ca- 
dence the  destroyer  rolled  with  a  motion 
that  slopped  the  dirty  flood  from  side  to 
side  like  a  wave.  We  had  racks  on  the 
table  and  the  "boys"  made  an  attempt  to 
serve  dinner,  but  it  was  useless,  and  after 
haK  the  food  had  been  mingled  with  the 
flood,  we  tried  our  luck  with  cups  of  soup 
and  bread-crusts. 

When  the  weather  is  lively  there  is  little 
going  to  bed  on  a  destroyer,  and  on  this 
particular  trip,  for  instance,  none  of  us 
removed  his  clothes  from  port  to  port.  To 
wash  is  an  absurd  experiment.  To  try  to 
shave  is  an  indication  of  insanity. 

There  were  eight  ships  in  the  incoming 
convoy.  Big  fellows  they  were,  all  of  them. 


150        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

In  the  wind-swept  void  of  a  night  of 
superlative  blackness  we  picked  up  the 
other  destroyers  of  the  waiting  escort, 
and  at  about  midnight  I  suddenly  felt  a 
vibration  shivering  through  our  slim  hull. 
Out  of  the  lightless  night,  through  a  sub- 
marine-infested sea,  for  a  distance  of  three 
thousand  miles  these  great  ships  with 
their  priceless  cargo  of  human  freight  had 
steered  their  certain  course  to  the  ren- 
dezvous, and  we,  as  confident  of  our  posi- 
tion as  a  man  on  a  familiar  street-corner, 
waited  for  them  on  a  tiny  patch  of  storm- 
swept  Atlantic,  and  met  them. 

I  went  on  the  bridge  at  four  in  the 
morning.  The  increased  vibration  some 
hours  before  told  me  that  we  had  "made 
contact"  and  were  moving  at  increased 
speed.  The  officer  of  the  mid-watch 
pointed  out  the  ships  of  the  convoy 
through   his  night-glasses,   but  for  five 


DESTROYERS  151 

minutes  I  could  see  nothing  until  my 
eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness. 
Then,  one  by  one,  I  discovered  the  almost 
indefinable  low,  black  objects  ahead  and 
to  the  right,  now  vaguely  visible,  now  lost 
with  the  motion  of  the  sea.  There  was  not 
a  gleam  of  light;  there  was  no  sound  but 
the  roar  of  the  wind  behind  us. 

Another  day  dawned  gray  and  lifeless. 
I  was  wet  with  salt  water,  and  choked 
with  the  reek  of  back  drafts  of  fuel-oil 
vapor  from  the  stacks  and  the  smoke  of 
cooking  from  the  galley.  Also  for  two 
hours  I  was  seasick.  Why  dwell  on  that.^ 
Happily  I  have  been  seasick  but  four 
times  in  all.  But  it  is  enough  to  make  me 
understand  many  things. 

Camouflaged  beyond  recognition,  the 
transports  lunged  and  lifted  wet  bows 
and  shook  the  water  from  their  lower 
decks.   In  double  lines   four  wide    they 


152        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

proceeded,  destroyers  on  either  flank  and 
behind  them,  and  the  smoke  of  another 
destroyer  far  ahead.  Running  now  at 
twenty-three  knots  before  the  gale,  there 
was  a  sense  of  speed  that  I  have  never 
elsewhere  experienced.  A  great  copper  pot 
of  hot,  thick,  black  coffee  was  brought  up 
to  the  bridge,  and  a  huge  tin  cup  of  it  put 
me  on  my  toes  again. 

Day  was  well  established,  and  between 
breaking,  flying  clouds  now  and  then 
showed  patches  of  blue.  We  were  steam- 
ing at  twenty-seven  knots  to  take  position 
ahead  of  the  convoy.  There  was  the  Mon- 
golia, the  great  transport  on  which  I  had 
come  to  France.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
seen  her  since.  As  we  tore  up  behind  her 
I  remembered  another  morning  when  I 
came  on  her  bridge  at  dawn  and  looking 
down  saw  the  waiting  destroyers  dashing 
about  us.  A  thrill  had  shivered  through 


DESTROYERS  153 

me,  a  wave  of  emotion  —  inwardly  I 
blessed  them,  and  the  men  crowded  at 
the  rail  and  cheered  the  destroyers  as 
they  rocked  past,  and  wondered  how  they 
lived  and  how  such  ships  could  endure. 

Rolling  and  pitching  through  a  smother 
of  flying  spray  we  tore  past  the  two  out- 
board ships  of  the  convoy.  Clinging  to 
a  stanchion  I  watched  the  high,  distant 
decks  brown-packed  with  soldiers.  Small 
part  I  was  playing,  but  how  the  realiza- 
tion that  I  was  "among  those  present" 
thrilled  me  that  gray  morning. 

By  noon  it  was  gloriously  bright  and 
the  sea  was  going  down.  On  the  horizon 
was  the  smoke  of  the  other  convoys.  In 
the  wardroom  we  counted  the  troop  ca- 
pacity of  the  various  ships  of  the  three 
convoys,  all  of  which  an  hour  later  were 
in  full  view  at  one  time  —  it  showed  a 
total  of  forty-two  thousand  men.  On  the 


154        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Leviathan  alone  were  probably  at  least 
a  fifth  of  all.  About  thirty  destroyers 
composed  the  several  escorts;  destroyers 
from  Brest  and  a  bunch  from  Queenstown 
—  American  destroyers,  all.  There  were 
about  twenty-eight  troopships  in  the 
three  convoys. 

Another  day  and  the  sun  rose  in  a 
cloudless  sky  out  of  France;  as  we  picked 
up  the  familiar  shore,  the  troopships 
strung  out  into  a  long  single  file,  and  with 
destroyers  on  either  side  passed  through 
the  mine-field  and  entered  the  harbor. 
Overhead  two  long,  yellow  dirigibles  gave 
us  escort,  and  a  flock  of  seaplanes  soared 
far  up  in  the  sky  watching  the  depths  of 
the  blue  water. 

A  coastal  convoy  of  twenty-six  freight- 
ers was  standing  out  of  the  harbor  as  we 
neared  and  swung  slowly  south  past  the 
great  crags  that  rise  from  the  sea  at  the 


DESTROYERS  155 

south.  The  blue  of  sky  and  sea,  the  flags 
and  camouflage,  the  number  of  the  ves- 
sels, and  the  faint  burst  of  wind-blown 
music  from  military  bands  on  the  trans- 
port decks,  made  it  a  day  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

It  was  practically  the  last  great  convoy, 
although  we  dared  not  even  dream  that 
the  end  would  come  so  soon. 


VI 

HOMEWARD-BOUND 

First  to  reach  the  coast  of  France  after 
the  declaration  of  war,  the  fleet  of  con- 
verted yachts  first  sailed  for  home  follow- 
ing the  armistice.  During  the  long  month 
following  the  suspension  of  hostilities  the 
wide  harbor  of  Brest  presented  a  scene  of 
restless  inactivity.  The  war  was  ended. 
The  surrender  of  the  German  Navy  made 
further  sea  warfare  an  impossibility.  Af- 
ter months  of  hard  and  monotonous  sea 
duty  the  first  thought  of  almost  every 
man  was  of  home. 

Then  came  the  announcement  that  the 
yachts  were  to  return,  and  that  they 
would  be  followed  shortly  after  by  the 
several  torpedo  boats  and  the  coal-burn- 
ing destroyers.  For  weeks  the  men  had 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  157 

been  sewing  the  "homeward-bound"  pen- 
nants; a  few  days  of  hectic  labor  landing 
depth-charges,  Y-guns  and  ammunition, 
and  taking  on  board  stores,  and  the  little 
fleet  was  ready  for  its  thirty-five-hundred- 
mile  voyage. 

The  yachts  had  played  a  very  vital  part 
in  our  naval  activities  on  the  coast  of 
France.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  war  the 
relatively  few  available  destroyers  were 
rushed  to  England,  and  to  the  yachts  fell 
the  duty  of  the  patrol  and  escort  along  the 
French  coast.  With  the  British  fleet  guard- 
ing the  gates  of  the  north  and  the  French 
fleet  on  similar  duty  in  the  Mediterra- 
nean, the  full  burden  of  the  French  coast 
fell  to  the  yachts,  and,  later,  to  the  de- 
stroyers, which  were  from  time  to  time 
assigned  to  these  waters,  but  which  were 
still  inadequate  numerically  even  at  the 
close  of  the  war. 


158        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Designed  for  summer  seas  and  short 
runs  between  sheltered  harbors,  these 
frail  pleasure  vessels,  stripped  of  their 
luxurious  furnishings  and  equipped  with 
guns  and  depth  charges,  had  fought  the 
submarine  from  the  rocky  coast  of  Finis- 
tere  across  the  stormy  Bay  of  Biscay 
south  to  the  Spanish  line.  Much  credit 
goes  unquestionably  to  the  destroyers, 
but  to  the  yachts  belongs  credit  in  per- 
haps even  greater  measure  because  of 
their  physical  unfitness  for  the  service 
they  so  valiantly  performed. 

It  was  a  gray  morning  and  frequent 
rain  squalls  rode  in  from  the  sea  on  the 
chilling  wind.  Piled  up  from  the  harbor's 
edge,  rising  in  row  on  row  of  winding 
streets  of  slate-roofed,  gray-stone  build- 
ings, the  city  terminated  in  the  slender 
spire  of  the  cathedral.  At  its  feet  the  an- 
cient fortress  guarded  the  harbor.  For 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  159 

generations  the  eyes  of  sailors  had  seen 
the  city  unchanged  by  passing  years;  but 
never  in  its  long  history,  which  began  in 
Roman  days,  had  the  eyes  of  the  city 
gazed  out  upon  such  a  scene  as  the  harbor 
presented  in  these  last  weeks  which  fol- 
lowed the  war. 

Along  the  sheltering  lee  of  the  break- 
water, a  great  fleet  of  American  vessels 
extended  from  the  shore  to  the  break- 
water's end.  Here  were  gathered  many 
of  the  transports,  strangely  painted  in 
confusing  camouflage  of  white,  gray, 
blue,  black,  and  green;  from  great  buoys 
the  destroyers,  knife-like  hulls  of  steel, 
their  backs  bristling  with  funnels  and 
slender  masts,  swung  in  groups  like 
strange  water  insects.  Here,  too,  were  the 
yachts,  graceful  despite  their  shorn  bows 
and  overladen  decks,  aristocrats  in  battle 
gray.  Beyond  the  breakwater,  in  the  outer 


im        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

harbor,  were  huge  Hners  whose  decks 
so  recently  had  swarmed  with  khaki- 
clad  legions.  Everywhere  countless  motor 
launches,  manned  by  blue-clad,  white- 
capped  sailors,  darted  and  circled.  The 
harbor  was  alive  with  vessels. 

Of  all  the  yachts,  the  Christabel  was 
the  smallest,  the  oldest,  and  the  slowest  of 
the  fleet.  Yet  on  her  gray  funnel  a  white 
star,  her  mark  of  honor,  recalled,  to  those 
who  remembered,  the  story  of  her  battle 
with  the  German  submarine  U-56  which, 
shattered  by  the  Christabel's  depth- 
charges,  sought  desperate  refuge  in  a 
Spanish  port,  where  it  was  promptly  in- 
terned for  the  duration  of  the  war.  Built 
in  1893,  the  Christabel  boasted  of  two 
hundred  and  forty-eight  tons  and  a 
length  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-four  feet 
over  all.  For  the  first  year,  immediately 
following  her  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  she 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  161 

saw  continuous  service  without  overhaul 
or  repair.  And  on  that  gray  morning  she 
was  ready  for  her  long  return. 

I  am  perhaps  most  interested  in  the 
Christabel  because  of  her  brave  history 
and  because  it  was  to  her  that  I  was  as- 
signed for  my  homeward  passage,  but  the 
other  yachts  of  the  homeward-bound  fleet 
deserve  equal  mention.  In  the  second  di- 
vision, to  which  the  Christabel  was  at- 
tached, were  also  the  May,  the  Rem- 
lik,  and  the  Wanderer.  The  first  division 
comprised  the  Vidette,  Corona,  Sultana, 
Emeline,  and  Nokomis.  Both  divisions 
sailed  on  the  same  morning  and  both  di- 
rected their  course  to  New  York  by  way 
of  the  Azores  and  Bermuda. 

There  was  a  sudden  burst  of  cheering 
from  the  Bridgeport,  the  big  gray  repair 
ship  of  the  base.  Slowly,  through  the  clus- 
ters of  vessels,  the  yachts  of  the  first  di- 


162        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

vision  stood  out  of  the  harbor.  One  by  one 
they  passed  through  the  lane  of  open  wa- 
ter, their  crews  swarming  on  the  decks, 
hundred-foot  homeward-bound  pennants, 
slender  red,  white,  and  blue  ribbons,  loop- 
ing and  curving  on  the  breeze  from  the 
trucks  of  their  mainmasts.  From  every 
vessel  cheers  sped  them  on  their  way;  sig- 
nal boys  in  syncopated  semaphore  flicked 
red  and  yellow  words  of  hon  voyage  from 
the  waiting  to  the  departing;  whistles  sa- 
luted their  outgoing. 

Two  hours  later  came  the  signal  for  the 
departure  of  the  second  division.  Slowest 
of  all,  the  Christabel  was  to  lead  our  pro- 
cession. On  the  long  journey  it  was  she 
who  would  set  the  pace.  Our  moorings 
were  cast  off;  the  bells  of  the  telegraph 
jangled  in  the  engine-room;  on  the  upper 
deck  forward  of  the  pilot-house  I  stood 
with  the  captain  and  several  of  the  other 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  163 

officers.  As  we  gathered  way  the  sinu- 
ous pennant  on  our  mainmast  snapped 
smartly  along  the  breeze  at  right  angles  to 
our  course.  We  turned  the  end  of  the  break- 
water. The  whaleback  of  a  French  subma- 
rine passed  us  and  recalled  the  days  that 
were  gone.  Slowly  we  turned  to  the  west. 
The  harbor,  a  great  circular  lake,  lies 
behind  the  rocky  cliffs  through  which  the 
narrow  entrance  passes  straight  to  the 
sea.  As  we  stood  down  the  channel  the 
town  slid  slowly  behind  the  outjutting 
cliffs.  My  thoughts  held  only  pleasant 
memories  of  the  weeks  that  I  had  passed 
in  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  city,  but  in 
my  heart  was  a  deeper  happiness,  and  al- 
ready I  began  to  estimate  the  probable 
duration  of  our  passage  and  anticipate 
that  morning  or  evening,  as  it  might  be, 
when  the  low  coast  of  America  would  rise 
against  the  sky  of  my  own  country.  ^ 


164        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

Two  great  vessels  were  entering  the 
harbor  as  we  passed  out  to  sea.  Sleek,  in  a 
fresh  coat  of  gray,  the  Leviathan  towered 
above  us.  High  up  above  the  precipice  of 
her  side  deck  upon  deck  piled  incredibly 
aloft;  and  still  beyond,  the  monstrous 
triple  stacks  pointed  skyward.  From  her 
rails  hundreds  of  small  white  faces  peered 
down  on  us,  and  I  believe  we  all  felt  a 
pleasure  in  the  thrill  of  our  adventure 
which  became  visualized  by  this  absurd 
comparison. 

The  entrance  widened.  On  the  left 
great  rocks,  strange  shapes  in  wave-worn 
stone,  outcropped  from  the  sea  like  giant 
bathers  around  whose  bodies  showed  the 
ominous  white  of  breaking  surf.  On  the 
right  the  high  cliff  turned  northward. 
Here  were  the  white  towers  of  Saint- 
Mathieu  and  beyond,  low-lying  Oues- 
sant. 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  165 

It  was  a  gray  day,  with  a  heaving  dull- 
green  sea  and  a  steady  wind  from  the 
southwest  that  heaped  an  occasional  wave 
over  our  restless  bow.  A  month's  sea  voy- 
age is  a  long  prospect  and  the  first  day 
was  quickly  passed  in  completing  our 
final  preparations.  Built  primarily  for 
pleasure  cruising  in  smooth  waters,  the 
discomforts  that  were  to  await  us  became 
soon  apparent,  for  by  midnight  the  fre- 
quent seas  shipped  aboard  began  to  perco- 
late through  the  decks  strained  by  the 
wear  and  tear  of  long  months  of  arduous 
service,  and  a  fine  drip  of  salt  water,  im- 
possible to  check,  soon  soaked  the  offi- 
cers' cabins  and  crews'  quarters,  wetting 
clothing  and  bedding,  and  driving  the 
oflicers  to  restless  sleep  on  the  pitching 
deck  of  the  ward-room. 

For  two  days  the  weather  steadily  in- 
creased, and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  third 


166        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

day  the  barometer  began  to  joggle  down 
to  depths  that  augured  badly  for  our 
progress.  Four  hundred  miles  off  the  coast 
of  Spain  in  a  rising  gale  may  be  fun  for 
liners,  but  as  I  looked  out  over  the  great 
azimuth  of  the  sea  cresting  in  racing 
waves,  suds-streaked  and  breaking  white 
into  spume  that  was  flung  like  blizzard 
gusts  of  snow  before  the  gale,  and  watched 
the  slender  hulls  of  our  three  companions, 
now  lost  between  the  seas,  now  rising  high 
on  a  crest,  red  bilges  showing  as  they 
rolled,  I  thought  of  Gonzalo's  remark: 
"Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs 
of  sea  for  an  acre  of  barren  ground." 

Night  shut  in  with  a  single  yellow 
gleam  of  light  that  was  extinguished  like  a 
candle.  Against  our  frail  pilot-house  the 
wind  hammered  with  battering  blows. 
Now  and  then,  as  a  sea  met  the  Christabel 
broad  on  her  bow,  there  was  a  shock  of  a 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  167 

collision,  and,  if  at  that  instant  we  were 
not  clinging  fast,  we  were  slung  helpless 
across  the  deck  to  crash  with  a  mess  of 
other  things  adrift  against  the  opposite 
bulkhead.  In  the  half-lee  of  the  pilot- 
house I  stood  my  watch,  deluged  by  head- 
long seas  thrown  up  by  our  bow  and  flung 
high  above  us.  Through  the  darkness  of 
this  mad,  wet,  swinging  world  I  could  see 
now  and  then  the  lights  of  the  May  on  our 
port  beam  and  the  emerald  gleam  of  her 
starboard  running  light,  and  far  astern 
the  masthead  lights  of  the  Remlik  and  the 
Wanderer  plunged  and  lifted,  appeared 
and  disappeared,  like  sea  fireflies. 

It  was  about  eleven  when  the  quarter- 
master at  the  wheel  turned  and  flung  to 
the  captain  and  two  of  us  who  were  with 
him  in  the  pilot-house,  the  pungent  sen- 
tence, "The  wheel 's  jammed.  Sir."  In  the 
half -second  which  followed  I  realized  with 


168        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

vivid  intensity  that  extreme  peril  was  at 
hand.  Slowly  we  swung  into  the  deep 
trough  of  the  seas  and  a  second  later  a 
wave  struck  us  on  the  beam  with  a  shock 
that  seemed  capable  of  crushing  us.  The 
impact  was  terrific.  Then,  slowly,  the  elec- 
tric lights  died  low,  the  glowing  fila- 
ments suffused  a  dull  pink  light,  and  all 
was  darkness.  At  the  same  moment  the 
door  of  the  pilot-house  was  flung  open 
and  on  the  rush  of  wind  that  followed  I 
caught  the  words  of  a  sailor  who  was 
shouting  that  something  in  the  side  of  the 
after-deck  house  was  smashed  in,  the  en- 
gine-room was  flooding,  and  the  dynamo 
was  under  water. 

Happily,  the  steering-gear  was  cleared 
by  the  shock  of  another  sea;  we  again 
headed  slowly  into  the  gale,  and  the 
pumps  disposed  of  an  inconvenient  couple 
of  tons  of  sea  water.  A  door  and  window 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  169 

in  the  after-deck  house,  which  the  sea  had 
torn  away  and  through  which  the  waves 
were  pouring,  were  barricaded  with  mess 
tables  from  the  crew's  galley  and  once 
more  the  electricity  made  light  and  signal- 
ing and  radio  communication  possible. 

In  the  next  two  hours  other  seas  tore 
away  the  ladder  from  the  main  deck  to  the 
pilot-house  and  snatched  a  motor  boat 
from  its  lashings  and  cast  it  far  astern  of 
us.  It  was  a  wild,  sleepless  night,  and 
when  in  the  early  morning  the  barometer 
began  to  steady,  we  thanked  fortune  that 
things  had  been  no  worse  and  began  to 
have  thoughts  of  food  and  sleep. 

There  is  a  wild  and  terrifying  majesty 
in  a  storm  at  sea;  but  I  think  the  aspect  of 
the  sea  in  the  several  days  immediately 
following  is  even  more  impressive.  With 
the  moderating  of  the  wind,  the  rapid  suc- 
cession of  the  waves  lengthened  into  a 


170        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

long,  unending  sequence  of  mighty  swells. 
Under  a  brightening  sky,  through  which 
came  fitful  bursts  of  pale  sunshine,  the 
leaden  ocean  seemed  to  be  moving  rapidly 
to  the  east,  great,  even,  smooth  ridges  of 
water  stretching  from  horizon  to  horizon 
and  following  each  other  like  ranks  of  in- 
fantry. Slowly  the  yachts  mounted  each 
swell,  dipped  over  its  summit,  and  slid 
down  into  the  broad  valley  beyond.  And 
hour  after  hour  the  interminable  progres- 
sion of  swells  passed  beneath  us. 

At  noon  each  yacht  reported  to  the  flag- 
ship by  hoists  of  multicolored  signal  flags 
the  position  and  the  coal  and  water  ex- 
pended and  on  hand,  and  by  night  the 
glittering  blinker  lights  on  the  yardarms 
spelled  in  dots  and  dashes  of  lights  the 
words  of  our  communications. 

In  the  storm  which  we  had  passed 
through,  a  quantity  of  sea  water  had 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  171 

seeped  into  our  fresh-water  tanks  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  trip  to  the  Azores  we  drank 
brackish  water  and  none  for  the  last 
thirty-six  hours,  when  even  that  was  gone 
and  our  condenser  was  shut  down  for  lack 
of  coal.  All  the  food  was  more  or  less 
spoiled  and  the  condition  of  the  living- 
quarters  below  decks  was  indescribable. 
But  most  serious  was  our  coal  consump- 
tion, which  had  been  so  increased  by  the 
strain  required  to  buck  the  storm  and  by 
two  days'  extra  steaming  which  the  bad 
weather  had  required,  that  forty-eight 
hours  before  reaching  Ponta  Delgada,  our 
objective  in  the  Azores,  we  were  forced  to 
pick  up  a  line  from  the  May  and,  with 
banked  fires  under  our  old  Scotch  boilers, 
to  proceed  ignominiously  under  tow. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  last  night  of  the 
eventful  first  "leg"  of  our  "homeward- 


172        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

bound."  The  warmth  of  summer  had  set- 
tled over  the  December  sea.  Very  distant 
in  a  faintly  misted  sky  the  stars  again  ap- 
peared. Then,  far  off  on  the  low  black  rim 
of  ocean,  winked  an  elusive  point  of  light, 
a  lesser  star  resting  on  the  sea.  We  had 
made  our  "landfall";  broad  on  our  star- 
board bow  was  the  distant  flash  of  the 
lighthouse  on  the  eastern  coast  of  the 
island  of  San  Miguel. 

Night  paled  and  dawn  flamed  up  from 
the  sea,  touching  the  western  clouds  with 
a  brush  of  rose;  up-pouring  from  below 
the  horizon  waves  of  incandescent  saffron 
the  sky  deepened  into  blue.  White  planets 
and  a  thin  white  strip  of  brittle  moon  de- 
fied the  day,  and  lingered  in  the  sky.  Up 
from  the  fringe  of  surf  the  smooth,  green 
volcanic  hills  of  San  Miguel  lifted  from 
the  sea  on  our  right,  high  Mount  Pica 
cloaked  in  a  mantle  of  purple  clouds. 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  173 

Ahead,  the  town  of  Ponta  Delgada,  be- 
hind the  breakwater,  clung  to  the  shore 
Hke  a  pile  of  gleaming  shells  upcast  on  the 
beach. 

We  neared  the  entrance.  Beside  us  the 
gray  graceful  yachts  of  the  first  division, 
whom  we  would  have  beaten  in  despite 
their  head  start,  if  the  Christabel's  coal 
had  lasted,  steamed  with  us.  The  harbor 
was  cluttered  with  vessels.  Here  were 
other  yachts  from  Gibraltar  and  the 
Mediterranean,  our  own  divisions,  rev- 
enue cutters  and  gun-boats,  sub-chasers, 
colliers,  freighters,  and  at  the  entrance 
the  squat  monitor  Tonapah.  It  was  very 
gay  and  warm  and  restful  after  the  past 
few  hectic  days. 

For  three  days  we  lay  in  the  harbor  fill- 
ing our  bunkers  with  coal  and  our  tanks 
with  fresh  water,  and  in  the  spare  hours 
wandering  through  the  clean  old  town 


174        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

with  its  narrow  streets  of  plaster  houses 
tinted  soft  blue,  pink,  green,  or  yellow, 
and  out  into  the  fertile  green  country  be- 
yond, where  long  high  walled  fields  and 
gardens  reached  far  up  the  smooth,  steep- 
domed  hills  almost  to  the  windmills 
which  perpetually  waved  thin  sailed  arms 
high  above  all.  During  these  days  Ameri- 
can bluejackets  swarmed  everywhere,  and 
the  interest  displayed  by  the  surprising 
majority  in  the  natural  and  historical 
points  of  interest  recalled  similar  impres- 
sions of  like  nature  which  have  convinced 
me  that  to  "join  the  Navy  and  see  the 
world"  is  no  empty  phrase  for  the  right 
kind  of  a  boy. 

In  three  short  days  we  were  ready  for 
the  second  and  longest  leg  in  our  journey, 
the  run  to  Bermuda.  In  the  smother  of  a 
windy  rain  squall,  we  stood  out  of  the 
harbor  and  by  twilight  the  great  cliffs  and 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  175 

conical  volcanic  mountains  of  the  island 
had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon.  In  two 
weeks  we  expected  to  reach  Bermuda, 
gauging  our  speed  by  that  of  the  Christa- 
bel  and  further  qualifying  our  progress 
by  the  fact  that  it  would  be  necessary  to 
tow  her  for  a  number  of  days. 

There  was  but  little  incident  to  break 
the  monotony  of  the  long  days  that  fol- 
lowed except  the  routine  of  our  duties. 
For  the  most  part,  the  weather  was  calm, 
but  the  yachts  rolled  heavily  in  the  con- 
stant swells  and  sleep  was  difficult  and  the 
cooking  and  serving  of  meals  a  precari- 
ous operation.  During  my  long  hours  on 
the  bridge  I  watched  the  gulls  that  fol- 
lowed us  on  our  passage,  soaring  and 
floating  like  swift  white  slivers  of  cloud 
by  day,  and  by  night  like  ghostly  bats 
passing  and  repassing  above  us,  gray 
shadows  in  the  moonlight. 


176         A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

A  great  moon,  that  waned  slowly  as  the 
nights  passed  by,  lighted  the  sea.  There 
were  frequent  squalls  of  rain  and  the  sky 
by  day  or  night  was  a  constantly  shifting 
setting  of  cumulous  or  nebulous  cloud 
manes.  From  these  high  mountains,  the 
moon  burnished  its  path  on  the  shifting, 
heaving  ocean,  racing  from  cloud  to  cloud, 
star-accompanied,  in  feverish  haste  to  ful- 
fill her  nightly  run.  The  green  and  red 
gleam  of  the  running  lights,  the  white 
beacon  at  the  masthead  and  the  yellow 
glow  of  the  binnace,  these  and  the  moon 
and  stars  lighted  our  way. 

At  times  during  the  long  hours  of  the 
midwatch  the  blinker  of  the  May,  in  dia- 
mond glittering  flashes,  spelled  out  to  us 
fragments  of  "press  news"  caught  by  her 
wireless,  the  chronicle  of  the  doings  of  our 
distant  and  busy  world  of  which  we  were 
once  a  part,  but  from  which  we  were  now 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  177 

far  removed,  and  the  happening  there 
seemed  of  but  Httle  consequence  to  us. 

Each  day  at  noon  the  clocks  were  set 
back  from  fifteen  to  twenty  minutes  and 
by  that  much  we  all  felt  the  nearer  home. 
Never  in  those  months  at  sea,  have  I  been 
able  to  forget  "what  time  it  is  now  at 
home,"  and  French  time  was  always  dis- 
torted to  me  by  just  the  five  hours'  dif- 
ference between  it  and  the  hour  at  home. 

Christmas  morning  dawned  in  an  al- 
most cloudless  sky.  It  was  warm  and  in 
the  soft  air  was  the  earthy  fragrance  of 
land.  The  sea  was  calm,  and  when  I  came 
on  deck  in  the  first  gray  light  that  comes 
an  hour  before  sunrise,  we  were  steaming 
slowly  through  the  still  water  with  the 
low  shore  of  Bermuda  on  our  bow. 
Slowly,  the  light  welled  up  and  touched 
the  thin  clouds  in  the  east.  The  pale  sky 
became  a  soft  emerald  that  faded  imper- 


178        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

ceptibly  into  blue  with  ribbons  of  flame 
that  laced  across  it. 

Through  a  calm,  milky-blue  ocean,  past 
guiding  buoys  that  marked  our  channel, 
through  the  narrow  cut  in  the  island's  rim 
we  steamed  to  the  harbor  and  dropped  our 
anchor  under  the  walls  of  St.  George's. 

Two  days  later  we  stood  north  again. 
Our  original  orders  had  directed  us  to  sail 
for  New  York,  but  at  Bermuda  had  come 
new  orders  assigning  the  yachts  to  vari- 
ous ports  along  the  eastern  coast.  It  was  a 
disappointment  to  all  of  us,  for  both  men 
and  ofiicers  had  anticipated  our  entrance 
to  our  greatest  seaport,  and  had  held  the 
faint  hope  that  some  recognition  for  the 
long  months  of  arduous  service  that  had 
been  performed  would  be  given  to  us.  But 
such  could  not  be,  and  on  the  third  day  the 
May  and  the  Remlik  left  us  on  their  way 
to  Norfolk,  and  the  Christabel  and  the 


HOMEWARD-BOUND  179 

Wanderer  began  to  buck  a  rising  gale  off 
Hatteras  with  bows  pointed  straight  for 
New  London. 

From  a  summer  sea  we  passed  rapidly 
into  the  cutting  winds  and  cold  waters  of 
the  north.  Wind-and-rain  clothing,  heavy 
boots  and  knitted  socks  and  scarfs  began 
to  appear.  Through  a  long  day  and  night 
when  icy  spray,  hail  and  stinging  rain 
swept  the  bridge  with  its  machine-gun  fire, 
we  stood  our  watches,  warmed  and  spirited 
with  the  thought  of  rapidly  nearing  home. 

In  a  dark  night,  varied  with  squall 
clouds  and  hurried  gusts  of  snow,  the 
lookout  in  our  foretop  gave  cry  of  "land," 
and  soon  after  the  flash  of  Montauk  light 
was  visible  from  the  deck.  All  night  the 
ship  was  alive  with  activity.  No  one 
seemed  able  to  sleep  and  there  was  an 
endless  washing,  and  pressing  of  clothing 
and  uniforms. 


180        A  YEAR  IN  THE  NAVY 

At  dawn  we  swung  into  the  broad  open- 
ing between  Montauk  Point  and  Block 
Island  and  a  few  hours  later  our  anchor 
dropped  in  the  dark  water  of  the  Thames. 
It  was  a  quiet  homecoming.  No  whistles 
greeted  us;  no  throng  of  spectators  saw 
our  arrival.  Silently,  as  they  had  labored 
in  the  long  months  of  war,  the  yachts  re- 
turned. But  if  there  was  no  studied  wel- 
come, the  familiar  shores  of  our  own  land 
and  the  houses  and  buildings  of  an  unmis- 
takable American  city  told  us  that  we 
were  home  again. 

For  the  last  time  we  dropped  anchor, 
and  lowered  the  "  homeward-bound." 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  •  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


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